Golden Gate Genius
by REIDFANATIC
Summary: While searching for a killer in San Francisco, the BAU meet an unexpected witness who causes some problems for Reid and the team.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds

A/N: Thanks to mablereid for the encouragement and support.

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A strong wind blew off the bay, making the residents and visitors to the San Francisco area pull their coats tighter around them as protection from the harsh weather. The sun shone and reflected off the blue water that carried boats in and out of Fisherman's Wharf. Alcatraz loomed off in the distance as ferries seemed to continually transport tourists to and from the old prison.

Spencer Reid sat in the back of the SUV that was crossing the Golden Gate Bridge remembering visiting San Francisco as a child. Diana Reid had been guest lecturing on The Canterbury Tales at the University of San Francisco and it was one of the rare occasions when William and Spencer had come along. It remained one of his happiest childhood memories. His mother had booked a whole week off as had his father and missing a week of school was of no consequence to Spencer. The young profiler recalled, as a six year old, being thrilled to see the water and the ships in San Francisco bay. He had never seen anything like that, living in the desert.

They had driven to San Francisco from Las Vegas due to his mother's fear of flying. William grumbled at first about the long drive but Spencer remembered being ecstatic although he tried not to show it. Very seldom did he get so much time alone with his parents when they weren't concentrating on work. He considered himself the perfect child for a road trip. He never asked the dreaded, "Are we there yet?" He knew how far it was from Las Vegas to San Francisco and he merely calculated the speed to find out how long they'd be on the road. He didn't fidget and say he was bored. As long as there were books he would be entertained.

He and his father had attended his mother's lectures and afterward they had seen the sights of the city. His mother had been healthy then and she and his father had been happy together. The song might be right; he'd left his heart or at least part of it in San Francisco. This trip to San Francisco, however, was not to be a happy one. He was here with the BAU and that meant only one thing, San Francisco was in trouble.

Prostitutes in San Francisco were being murdered. Prostitutes were the most common murder victims and the number one targets among serial killers. These murders were different, however, in that the women were tortured for a long time before they were killed. Although they were from various parts of the city, which was wreaking havoc with Reid's geographic profile, they were always dumped in the Mission District. This led the profilers to believe that the killer was likely a Hispanic man since the Mission District appeared to be within his comfort zone. They figured he either lived or worked in the Mission District.

The team had been here for five days and was no closer than when they'd started. A tip line had been set up but there was less action on it than they had hoped for. People it seemed did not look out for prostitutes. Some thought they were getting what they deserved for living an unorthodox lifestyle. There were the usual weirdoes who always called tip lines accusing everyone from their next door neighbor to little men from Mars. They had laughed when one tipster called and said he had seen the murderer take one of the prostitutes away. He sounded like a little child and the team wondered if his mother was aware he was calling hot lines for something to do. He had called three times since and the team was beginning to wonder if anyone was supervising this child or was aware of what he was doing. Rossi ordered a trap and trace for the next time the child called. They would inform his parents and let them take care of disciplining the child. They agreed that this was in the child's best interests.

The trace had revealed the call came from the home of Bruce Bancroft in a moderately upscale part of the city. Hotch tried but was unable to get in touch with Mr. or Mrs. Bancroft. He decided to go by the house when they broke for lunch. He felt he could use the break from the intenseness of the conference room. Morgan and Reid were with him as he drove through the San Francisco neighborhoods looking for the Bancroft house. "It should be a left at that stop sign ahead, Hotch," Reid said from the back seat. He had been studying San Francisco maps for days and he felt like he knew the city backwards and forwards. 

They found the home easily enough and Hotch said as they exited the vehicle, "Let's just put a little of the fear of God in him about doing something like this but let's be gentle." The other two nodded and they headed toward the house. The doorbell was answered by a young Hispanic woman. They identified themselves and showed their ID. They asked to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Bancroft.

The woman had looked frightened as soon as she saw that they were federal agents. "I am sorry senors," she said in a thick Spanish accent, "Meester Bancroft, he not home and Mees Fletcher not here either." She was wringing her hands nervously.

"Do the Bancrofts have a child," Hotch asked.

"Oh, si, master Fletcher." 

"Is he home," Hotch inquired of the petrified woman.

"Si senor, but I do not know if Meester Bancroft would like it if I let the boy talk to strangers from the policia."

"We're not the police," Morgan interjected, "We're federal agents."

Hotch began again, "We're here because some…"

"Well, somebody finally showed up" said a small voice from the top of a winding staircase that began in the foyer. "I called four times; I thought you'd never get here." The men looked up to see a little boy with a round face punctuated with tiny freckles and topped with an unruly mop of blond hair. He was missing one of his front teeth which caused him to lisp a little. He ran down the plushly carpeted stairs silently.

"So you've been calling the tip line," Hotch said to the boy, "You know you really shouldn't be doing that. It's an important thing we're doing. We're trying to catch a bad man and when someone calls as a prank it only makes more work for us."

The boy crossed his arms and looked at Hotch like he had lost his mind. "I know that," he said. "You're looking for the killer of those prostitutes. You're from the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I saw Agent Jareau on the news giving out the tip line number so when I saw what I saw I thought I better call. I'm not stupid you know."

Hotch looked somewhat taken aback by the child. Morgan looked amazed. "How old are you," he asked.

"Eight," the child replied, "And how old are you?"

Morgan was so shocked he responded, "Thirty-five."

"Son," Hotch said, "I don't think you could have seen anything. None of the murders took place in this area."

The boy sighed and looked at the ceiling as if he were talking to a bunch of morons. "First of all, I'm not your son and second of all, how do you know that anyway? I thought you only knew where the prostitutes disappeared from and that the bodies were found in the Mission District, so how could you know where the murders took place."

Morgan looked at Hotch; he couldn't believe they were talking to an eight year old, "Is he for real?" He turned back to the child, "Are you some kind of genius or something?"

"So they tell me, I have an IQ of 180 but then, I don't think intelligence can be satisfactorily quantified."

Hotch and Morgan looked at one another. Morgan spoke first, "A mini Reid."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed and added the story to their alerts

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"Who's Reid," the boy asked, looking between Morgan and Hotch.

Morgan turned behind him and pulled Reid forward into the room. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. He's a genius with three PhDs and an IQ of 187. He's got an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words a minute." Morgan stated, as if he was trying to one up the boy by seeing his genius with one of their own.

The child looked totally unimpressed. "Good," he said. "Maybe you'll listen to reason."

"Uh, Fletcher, where are your parents," Reid asked?

"They're out of town. My mom's on a mission for her job."

"What does she do," Reid asked?

"She's a head hunter. She looks for people for top level jobs for companies. She travels all over the world. She speaks eight languages fluently," he told them and added, "I speak three."

Reid nodded, "What about your Dad?"

"He went with Mom this time. He doesn't always. He works at the Fairburn Institute; it's kind of like what they call a think tank. He's a nuclear physicist and a botanist. Right now he's working on the effect of nuclear energy on plant growth."

"Uh huh," Reid said. "Fletcher, you called the tip line saying you saw one of the victims get taken but that occurred a long way away from here and late at night. I doubt you would have been there so how…"

"Okay, you better come with me," Fletcher said, breaking in on Reid's speech.

"Oh, master Fletcher, I do not think your parents would like…" the young Hispanic woman protested. 

"It's okay Theresa, they're the good guys. They're not from immigration," the boy told the young woman.

Theresa still looked concerned but allowed the boy to lead the three men up the stairs. There were portraits in the upstairs hallway. Fletcher pointed to the various pictures. "That's my grandfather, Otis Bancroft. This is my Dad," he pointed to a picture of a forty-something man with fair hair and blue eyes. His hair style and dress were pristine. "That's my Mom, Anise Fletcher," the boy pointed to a portrait of a beautiful blond woman and if the artist had captured her correctly which Reid was sure was the case, it was a cold, hard beauty, not soft and warm like JJ's.

They came to a room in the middle of the hallway and Fletcher ushered them in. "This is my room," he said by way of explanation.

It was a beautiful room, the men thought, a double bed was the centerpiece. The headboard was oak and had shelves at the back for books or knickknacks. There were only books on the shelves. Two oak nightstands sat on either side of the bed. Both supported plain, but expensive looking, lamps. There was a clock on one of the tables and a telephone on the other. A plasma screen adorned the wall opposite the bed. Underneath the television sat an oak desk on which rested a computer and desk lamp. There was artwork on the wall behind the bed, a landscape of a grassy meadow with mountains in the background. The room was neat to a fault. There were no dressers. The closet doors opened to, what the profilers assumed was, a walk in closet. Another door led to a small bathroom. Two doors on the farthest wall led to a balcony.

The bed was covered with a cream colored duvet and a dark green blanket was folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. The walls were dark green and the cream carpet matched the bed covering. The profilers noticed that there were no posters on the wall of cars, rock stars or sports figures. There was no baseball glove or skateboard left carelessly in sight. There was nothing in this beautiful room to suggest it was inhabited by an eight year old boy. It was like the rooms the profilers saw every day in hotels.

Hotch felt sorry for the boy. He should be outside playing, not calling tip lines, trying to get someone's attention because his parents were too absorbed with their careers. This thought made him think of Jack and how much his career took him from his own son. "Listen Fletcher, I know you must be lonely with your parents gone but calling a tip line is not supposed to be a way to relieve boredom," the unit chief began.

"Is that what you think? I called because I'm bored? I've never been bored a moment in my life. My mind moves so fast, I'm always thinking of something, investigating it, reading up on it. My problem is there are not enough hours in the day for what I want to learn," the boy interrupted. He inclined his head toward Reid, "He knows, ask him." Hotch and Morgan looked at Reid and he nodded.

"So," Reid said, "Why did you call the tip line Fletcher?"

"Okay, follow me," the boy proceeded to the French doors that led to the balcony. The harsh wind hit them as soon as they opened the door. The men still had their jackets on but the boy just wore his tee shirt and jeans. He walked over to a tripod on one end of the balcony. The tripod shook a little in the wind but was sturdy enough that there was no concern that it would tip. Affixed to the tripod was a very high powered telescope. "I saw it through this," he said, patting the telescope with his hand.

The profilers looked at one another in astonishment. They hadn't considered for one moment that the child had actually seen something but now, after meeting the boy and seeing the telescope, they weren't so sure.

Hotch looked sadly at the boy. He hated taking statements from children. They were innocent little people, that's how it was supposed to be, but sometimes it was necessary and he always loathed it. "Okay Fletcher, can you tell us what you saw?"

The boy nodded and went back into his room. He went to one of the nightstands, opened the drawer and retrieved a small coil bound notebook. He paged through the book for a bit, then stopped and read. "Four nights ago at 10:07 pm., I saw a woman get taken from an alley. The lady that got taken was kind of staggering like maybe she was drunk or drugged. Then the killer put something on her neck and the lady fell down. It was probably a stun gun." The three men said nothing about the autopsy reports that revealed burns from a stun gun on the victims. This information had never been released. "The killer put her in a navy blue van. Sorry, I could only get the last four characters of the license plate. They were M476, a California license plate, I think."

"That's real good kid," Morgan interjected. "Did you happen to get a look at the guy who took her?'

"I sure did," the boy replied. "I saw the whites of her eyes."

"Her," the three men said in unison!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks again to all who read and reviewed

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"It was a woman," Hotch confirmed with the boy. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Agent Hotchner," the boy replied. "I know the difference between a man and a woman."

"She must have been really strong to be able to lift the hooker," Morgan received a stern look from Hotch, "I mean, the other woman into the van." Morgan looked skeptical that a woman could accomplish this.

"She didn't have to lift her in," the boy said.

"How did she get her in Fletcher," Reid asked?

"The van was like the kind they use for handicapped people. The side door opened and she pressed a button and this elevator came down. You know how they get people with wheelchairs in vans." The three men nodded. "She dragged the other lady onto the elevator, pushed the button and it raised her up into the van."

The men's mouths gaped. A woman was not something anyone had considered and seemed unlikely but what the boy described was entirely plausible.

"Could you describe this woman to a sketch artist," Reid inquired again?

"Oh, most definitely," Fletcher said eagerly. "I scored exceedingly high on both serial and parallel processing," he told Reid. Hotch and Morgan looked at Reid with expressions that said they had no idea what the boy had just said.

"Serial processing means Fletcher would be good a describing the individual features of the face, like the eyes, nose, lips, that sort of thing. Parallel processing means he'd be good at describing the face as a whole. I scored in the 98th percentile for both and the fact that Fletcher scored high would mean any description he gives us is likely to be very accurate," Reid concluded.

"Fletcher," Hotch spoke to the boy, "We'll have to get in touch with your parents. Is there anyone besides the woman downstairs who's responsible for you, in case there's a problem?"

The boy contemplated for a moment. "Well, I suppose there's Mr. Jansen; he's my parents' attorney. I'm really not a very problematic child."

Hotch gave the child a rare smile. "I'm sure you're not. Is there a number where I can reach your parents?" Fletcher wrote his mother's and father's cell numbers on a page of his notebook and ripped it out, handing it to Hotch who left the room to make the call.

"So kid, how come you're not in school?" Morgan asked the boy while they waited for Hotch to return.

"I attend a different school than most kids," Fletcher explained. "It's a school for gifted children. Our semesters are different. They're shorter because we can cover the material in less time but there are more semesters in a calendar year. So I'm on break right now."

Hotch returned saying he'd spoken to Anise Fletcher and she would have Mr. Jansen come and check out the situation and if he thought it was reasonable they could question Fletcher. "Does she want to speak to me," the boy jumped up excitedly.

"Oh," Hotch said slowly, then responded quickly with, "She had to hurry and call Mr. Jansen."

"Yeah, she's probably busy." The boy looked deflated.

All three men's hearts went out to the boy but Reid and Hotch seemed most affected. Hotch wondered if this was how Jack felt when there was always another unsub, in another city, that seemed more important than him.

Reid looked at Fletcher like he was looking at himself eighteen years ago. He was this boy and although their lives seemed totally different, were they really? Genius carried a burden that few understood.

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Rossi looked once again at photos of the bodies of the five dead prostitutes but could glean no further insights by staring at them one more time. "We're nowhere," he said frustratedly to Emily and JJ.

"What are we missing," Emily too studied the pictures on the whiteboard. "He's cut up their vaginas and their breasts. He also cut off their hair and cut up their faces."

"All of the places on the body that are important to their line of work," Rossi stated. "Yet he doesn't stab them to death. He just cuts them so they suffer and finally ends it with an overdose. Why not stab them to death?"

"What would his reason be for going after their sex organs," JJ asked. "Is he some kind of puritan who sees them as dirty or evil?"

"This looks personal," Rossi said. "The savageness of the torture seems personal."

"So you think he was a john," Emily asked. "Maybe he had been with all of them. What if he's someone in the public eye and wants to get rid of them because if anyone found out about them it would destroy his life," she postulated.

"No, I don't think so, I mean we've seen politicians and evangelists caught with their pants down, so to speak, and they do a two minute sound bite saying how sorry they are and all is for…" Rossi stopped speaking as his cell rang, "Rossi."

He spoke for a few minutes and when he ended the call he told the women. "We might have a break. We need to get a sketch artist in here."

"A sketch artist," Emily looked confused, "What happened that we need a sketch artist?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Rossi replied.

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They entered the precinct which had been their headquarters for the last five days to find it bustling with activity. Uniformed officers were coming and going. Citizens were waiting to file police reports. Screaming and profanity carried from the holding cells while the harried desk sergeant, who was attempting to maintain control, gave the profilers a strange look as they passed by him with a small boy and an attorney in tow.

Hotch, Morgan and Reid headed toward the back of the precinct along with Fletcher and the Bancrofts' attorney, Chris Jansen. Jansen, a friendly man in his fifties, stood about six foot, three and looked like an aging linebacker. He had promised not to interfere as long as Fletcher was being protected. He told the agents he wanted this killer caught as much as anyone. The agents, he felt, for the most part had Fletcher's best interests at heart. The boy seemed to like them anyway and had asked to ride with them in their SUV as opposed to riding with him. He seemed comfortable in the back beside Agent Reid.

Emily, JJ and Rossi left the conference room to see the young genius Morgan had mentioned on the phone. The little blond haired, freckled faced youngster did not look like a force to be reckoned with walking beside Reid. "Fletcher," Reid said, "These are Agents Rossi, Prentiss and Jareau. The boy raised his hand in a little wave that reminded JJ of Reid.

"People always call me JJ," she told the boy.

"You like butterflies, huh," Fletcher said.

"How did you know that," JJ asked suspiciously.

"Your necklace," the boy said pointing to a butterfly pendant JJ wore around her neck. "Did you know there are 24,000 species of butterflies, scientific name Lepidoptera, it means scaly winged. There are over seven hundred species in North America. The one you're wearing is a swallowtail."

JJ's mouth gaped in amazement. "Told ya," Morgan said, "A mini Reid."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Still don't own Criminal Minds

A/N: Thanks to all my faithful reviewers. You make me laugh, I love it!

"Why don't we go into the conference room," Hotch suggested, "And Fletcher can fill you in on what he told us and then we can sit down with a sketch artist."

Emily stood in the doorway of the conference room, looking meaningfully at Hotch. "Why don't we go to the break room first, I could use a cup of coffee." Hotch mouthed a silent thank you. Fletcher definitely did not need to see the photos on the white board. He'd already seen more than a child his age should.

The team and Chris Jansen gathered in the break room, poured coffee and sat down while Emily quickly got the pictures out of sight before joining the others. "Where are Reid and Fletcher," she asked on entering the room.

"They were right behind us I thought," Morgan answered her. "Maybe the kid had to go to the restroom."

"Okay, what kind of chocolate bar is your favorite," Reid asked as the tall man and small boy stood in front of the vending machine, scanning its vast selection.

"I like thnickers," the boy responded through his missing front tooth.

"Good choice," Reid said. "Two Snickers it is." Reid started pulling coins from the pocket of his beige cords and putting them in the machine. "Uh oh, looks like I'm short a quarter. Oh just a minute, hold still Fletcher." He reached behind Fletcher's ear and produced a quarter which he showed to the child. "Thanks Fletcher."

The boy's eyes widened, "Alright, how did you do that," he asked suspiciously?

"A magician never reveals his secrets." Reid replied with a grin, putting the last coin in the machine and pushing the selections.

"So you're a magician, huh," the boy stated.

"An amateur one," the profiler replied, handing the boy the candy bar. "Want a soda?" The boy nodded and the pair got sodas. 

"I thought you were out of quarters," Fletcher said as they headed to the break room with their goodies.

"Ever been to a police station before," Reid asked, noticing the boy taking in all the activities. Fletcher shook his head.

"Who are those people," he asked as they passed a wall with rows of pictures.

"They're the past police chiefs and commissioners and those three at the top are the present ones." The boy nodded and Reid had to quickly pull him out of the way as two officers passed by with a man in cuffs who was struggling and swearing at his captors. Fletcher's eyes were like saucers. "We better get to the break room," Reid said, hoping their trek to the vending machines had not been a mistake.

Man and boy entered the break room together with their sodas and candy bars. "There you are," Morgan said, "We wondered where you'd gotten to."

"We decided we didn't want coffee, didn't we Fletcher?" The boy shook his head and scrunched up his face in distaste. Reid held up the soda and chocolate bar. "We went for the good stuff. But Fletcher," Reid stage whispered, "Watch that chocolate bar around Prentiss. She loves chocolate."

"Hey, I stole some of your M&Ms one time," Emily admitted as the youngster moved his Snickers bar a little closer. Reid looked at her, "Okay, so I took one finger of your Kit Kat bar. I didn't think you'd notice. And well, I thought that box of chocolates that old lady gave you in Boston was for everyone."

"Probably the phenylethylamine," Fletcher told Reid, who nodded.

"Phenyl what," Morgan asked?

Phenylethylamine, it's one of the B endorphins, a mood elevator. It's found in chocolate and some other foods," Fletcher explained as the adults gaped at the little tyke who threw out words bigger than he was.

"I know," Emily said, looking at Reid, "Peas!"

"Yeah, and also apples, tomatoes and almonds," Fletcher added. "So chocolate covered almonds are twice as powerful."

"I love chocolate covered almonds," JJ and Emily said together.

Reid and Fletcher looked at each other, "Definitely the phenylethylamine," they said together.

"Let's take our coffee to the conference room," Rossi suggested, shaking his head, and everyone followed him into the room which featured a round table much like the one in Quantico, surrounded by eight swivel chairs upholstered in beige tweed. There was a window covered with blinds that were open but no curtains. To the left of the window stood a huge bulletin board which was covered with a large map of San Francisco in which Reid had stuck different colored pins, designating where the prostitutes were last seen and where the bodies were found, in an effort to construct a geographic profile. The room also contained a television with a video and DVD player and the white board that was now devoid of all the victim photographs.

"Fletcher," Hotch said, "Why don't you tell the other agents what you told us."

Fletcher repeated his observations to the three agents and when he was done Rossi said, "That was very detailed."

"Thanks, I'm taught to always be as accurate as possible."

Hotch picked up the phone, "Could you send the sketch artist in please." They waited for a few minutes and Fletcher and Reid used the time to chew happily on their candy bars.

At the knock on the door, Morgan rose and admitted a chubby middle aged black woman who said her name was Officer Millie Jackson. She was dressed in the uniform of the SFPD, her hair fell to her shoulders in corn row braids. She had a warm smile and a calm way about her, which Morgan thought probably made her perfect at drawing details out of witnesses. She was introduced to Fletcher and she asked him to close his eyes and picture the face and tell her about it. As the boy spoke Millie drew on her pad. She stopped him after a while and covered up everything but the eyes and asked Fletcher to look at them. 

"They need to be closer together," the boy stated succinctly. Millie redrew the eyes closer together and Fletcher inspected them and said they were right. They continued like this for the other features of the face until the face was acceptable to Fletcher.

"Okay," Millie said, "Now the hair. What color was it.?"

"It was dark with bangs in the front, about down to the shoulders and curly." Millie drew hair and again showed it to the boy. "No, it was curlier, puffier." Millie added more volume and curl to the hair and Fletcher agreed that it looked right. Millie did some tweaking and some fine definition and asked Fletcher to close his eyes again. The boy did so and Millie put the pad in front of her facing him. 

"Open your eyes." Fletcher opened his eyes and looked at Millie's rendition of the woman he'd seen. 

"Oh yeah, that's her alright."

"Okay Fletcher, what was the lady that took the other lady wearing," Morgan asked?

"You can say prostitute Agent Morgan. I know what it means. Prostitute," the boy recited as if from the dictionary, "To offer, as a woman, to a lewd use," he finished. "They were both wearing the same kind of clothes, short skirts and tops that, you know, came kind of low in front."

"Fletcher," Hotch said, "I think that's it. If we need anything more, we'll be in touch, okay. Thank you very much for calling the tip line. Mr. Jansen will take you home." 

The boy and the lawyer stood and made their way to the door. Fletcher waved back at the agents, "Bye, good luck with catching that lady." Chris Jansen bid the team good bye as well and they closed the door behind them.

Rossi sat looking at the sketch. "Great, now we've got a woman unsub when we never even considered a woman. What's her motive? We're looking at the face of our killer and we're no further ahead."

"At least she has no idea we're on to her and she's probably feeling safe. That's one good thing," Emily remarked.

Vern Caruthers finished his daily column just in time for the morning edition and headed for the elevator as the paper went to print.

_**The San Francisco Chronicle**_

_**Crime Watch**_

Byline Vern Caruthers

Are the feebs from the BAU finally getting somewhere in the investigation into the deaths of five prostitutes in our city. This reporter was in the precinct when Unit Chief, SSA Aaron Hotchner arrived with a small boy and an attorney. They met in the conference room and a few minutes later requested a sketch artist. Officer Millicent Jackson, well known in the precinct for her ability to work with children, was dispatched, leading this reporter to wonder if progress has been made in the investigation. The FBI and SFPD refused to comment.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds

A/N: Thanks for continuing to read and review.

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The conference room at SFPD seemed to get smaller every day as the profilers began their sixth day of investigation, or perhaps the pressure to find something made it seem like the walls were closing in on them. No one looked rested from their night's sleep as they settled with their coffee cups, into familiar chairs that they were now beginning to consider their own. The photos of the five dead prostitutes had been returned to their place on the whiteboard.

"Okay," Morgan began, "So now we're considering a woman. That will make the motive behind the tortures different."

"You don't often see a woman do something like that to another woman." Emily said while looking once again at the photos although they were already engraved in her mind. "The level of rage must be tremendous."

"There was no DNA evidence on any of the victims pointing to a woman," Rossi added, "Or a man, for that matter. This killer has been very skillful and careful to give us nothing."

"Yeah, just our luck," Morgan interjected with despair. "Everybody watches CSI."

"We should be getting word from Garcia. She was going to run that partial plate against blue vans," Reid stated. "That should give us somewhere to start. And what about auto detailing shops. We should hopefully be able to find out who put an elevator in that van."

Hotch was looking at the sketch. "Reid, how sure can we be that this is an accurate likeness to this woman? What I mean is, this is, after all, an eight year old. You two are close in IQ; could you have done this when you were eight?"

"Oh absolutely," Reid answered. "This is a very advanced child. It's good that he goes to a school for gifted children. His intelligence will get properly channeled and he won't have to deal with the kinds of things I did. Although, I don't believe that was his parents' intent."

"What do you mean Reid," Hotch asked?

"You saw the house Hotch. It's moderately upscale. The Bancrofts aren't rich but they want the world to think they are. Look at those portraits on the wall. It's like they're trying to imitate a family with old money. I think they want their neighbors to see that they send their son to a private school. They also want the world to see that they have hired help. They probably pay Theresa next to nothing but she's so happy that no one realizes she's an illegal, that she puts up with it." He got up from his chair and paced the room. "They obviously care more about themselves and their jobs than they do about their son."

"How do you figure that Reid," Morgan asked?

"You saw his room Morgan. Does that look like the room of any eight year old you've ever known?"

"Other than you, you mean?"

"Morgan, you didn't know me when I was eight years old."

"Did you have a room like that?"

"Jesus Derek, no kid's childhood should be judged next to mine. Anyway, look how they left Fletcher with Theresa. She was so frightened when she opened the door and saw our badges. She didn't inspect them carefully to make sure who we were but she let us in. She let three men with guns go upstairs alone with that boy."

"Now, I'm not a father, but Hotch, I'm sure if you and Haley were both going to be away, you'd have someone other than a frightened illegal in charge of Jack or at least have someone lined up to call if anything happened. The child, himself, had to make the decision on whom to call and it wasn't a friend or relative, it was the family attorney, and in the situation he was in it was the right choice but the fact remains, an eight year old had to make it." Reid paused momentarily.

"I'm also sure that if an FBI agent called you or Haley and told you that Jack had witnessed a serial killer take one of her victims, your first inclination would be to speak to Jack and see if he was alright. Anise Fletcher never even asked to speak to her son, did she?" Hotch shook his head.

"He seemed to be handling everything okay," Morgan interjected.

"Yeah, well just because a child is smart enough to handle a situation doesn't mean he should be put in that situation," Reid replied sitting back in his seat. The team looked at Reid and then at each other, not sure if he was talking about Fletcher or himself.

The phone in the conference room rang, Hotch looked at the call display, "It's Garcia." He answered the phone putting it on speaker, "Go ahead Garcia, we're all here.

"Okay, boys and girls, round one of the search for the van went to the unsub." The team groaned as a whole.

"Did you find out anything Garcia," Emily asked.

"Well, not really. I found out the plate probably doesn't belong to that vehicle. I can't find any vans with California plates that end in those four characters."

"Do you think maybe the kid got the numbers wrong," Morgan suggested. "Or, sorry Reid, made it up, remember we're talking an eight year old kid here, albeit a very smart eight year old kid."

"I might agree with you handsome, but, I also checked stolen California plates and a plate was stolen three weeks ago from a Audi at a truck stop in Palo Alto. The plate number was 5RPM476. I hate it when they're sneaky."

"What about tracking down vans that have been equipped with elevators, Garcia," Reid asked.

"I'm on it sunshine but there are more than a couple of detailing shops in San Fran. I'll check back when I have more. Garcia out!" The phone went silent.

"We're just hitting a roadblock every time we turn around, aren't we," Emily griped.

The door to the conference room opened and JJ walked in slamming it behind her, her anger visible on her face. "JJ, what's the matter," Hotch inquired.

"So much for the unsub being in the dark about us knowing anything about her." She took the newspaper she was holding and threw it down on the table. The Chronicle was open to the metro pager and showed Vern Caruthers crime watch column.

Emily picked it up and read it for the rest of the team. "Damn," she said, "We just can't buy a break."

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She put the Chronicle down on the coffee table and picked up her tea. A sketch artist, no one had been in the alley, she was sure of it. There had been hardly anyone in the bar. A boy; there definitely hadn't been a child in the area, she would have noticed that. Still, they wouldn't bring a child, of all people, in to see a sketch artist unless they believed he'd seen something. This made no sense whatsoever. She didn't like the BAU being involved. It limited control, and if there was one thing she prided herself on, it was control. She had to find out. She reached out and tinkled the bell beside her. A middle aged Hispanic woman entered the room.

"Yes ma'am," she said, lowering her head subserviently.

"Ah Rosa, I'm going to be in the office doing a little work. No calls or visitors. You know what to tell them."

"Yes ma'am," the woman answered obediently.

She set her cup and saucer on the tray and rose from the chair with a catlike grace, straightened the waist length jacket of her black suit and left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Still own nothing

A/N: Thanks as always for the reviews

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The team was still discussing the motives behind a woman being the perpetrator of this crime when JJ returned with their lunches. She handed out the orders and the team started to eat while still going over the case. "Maybe she's like a vigilante or some religious freak and she's taking these women out as some kind of punishment," Morgan suggested.

You mean like a Carrie Nation for prostitutes," Rossi asked?

"Yeah, something like that Dave," Morgan replied before biting into his ham and Swiss.

"What if the husband frequents prostitutes," Emily said waving a carrot stick in her hand, "And she's out for some kind of revenge. You know, the hell hath no fury sort of thing."

"Wouldn't she just file for divorce and take her husband to the cleaners? That's usually what women do when they're angry," Hotch said testily, not touching the burger in front of him.

Hotch had not said anything, that anyone knew of, about the present state of affairs with Haley. The team knew that, sadly, she'd filed for divorce but nobody on the team knew how things stood and if the divorce would end up being civilized or bloody.

"It seems we could debate this until the cows come home but it's not helping us find her," Dave interjected. "We obviously have a woman enraged at prostitutes for some reason. She dresses like one of them and lures them out probably saying her john is asking for a manage a trios or something kinky. Once she gets the woman in the alley she stuns her and takes her away in a blue van."

"I don't know if understanding her motive is going to help us," Reid added. "We have this sketch. We need to decide what to do with it. Do we release it to the press? Do we give it to the officers and have them see it gets to the women who need to watch out for this killer? Do we have SFPD put officers undercover in bars to keep an eye out, although there's not enough manpower to put an officer in every bar used by prostitutes? I think we need to get this picture out to the ladies. Before we had nothing and telling them to watch out for a strange man was laughable in their profession but showing them the picture and telling them to watch out for a strange woman might be helpful. A strange woman, they'd notice. They're bound to notice someone new in their territory."

"Okay," Hotch sighed, "Let's get the sketch out on the street so the women have an idea who to look for. Forewarned is forearmed."

"What's the significance of the Mission District; there's got to be one" Reid asked, standing in front of the large map he'd been immersed in for days? "She doesn't look Hispanic so she probably doesn't live there but for some reason it's in her comfort zone and she feels safe dumping the bodies there. Should we be circulating the sketch down there as well as to the ladies?"

"Couldn't hurt, huh Hotch," Morgan said and the unit chief nodded.

"I don't think it's as simple as wanting to rid the city of prostitutes or being angry at a cheating husband." Reid stated as he continued to stare absently at the map. "There's something really personal about these attacks. The torture, it's too savage to not be personally motivated. Something to do with prostitutes has happened personally to this woman."

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Fletcher was stacking books on his bed angrily. "Stupid grandmother," he muttered. Why did she always keep sending him these little kid books, he thought. He hadn't looked at books like this since he was three. Couldn't she get it through her head; these books were too easy for him. He'd give them to Theresa; she could take them to the book drive at the church or she could sell them to a second hand bookstore and keep the money, he didn't care.

He wanted to ask his mother to speak to his grandmother but he thought he better not. He'd spoken to her on the phone last night and she was really mad at him.

_The FBI coming to our home, what will the neighbors say? I hope the Gillespies weren't home. What were you thinking, watching prostitutes at night? Oh my God, the whole neighborhood will think I'm raising some kind of pervert._

He had told her that he didn't mean to see it; he was just looking at the city but she hadn't been in the mood to listen.

_Do you think I have time for this? And Chris Jansen, I'm sure he's got time to be babysitting you at the police station. Oh and another thing I don't have time for; calls from angry mothers; I got an irate call from Debbie Gillespie saying Ashley was really upset and crying, heartbroken, because you decided to inform her that there was no Easter bunny. How could you do that? She's just a little girl for God's sake. Can you never leave well enough alone? What are you going to do next, spread the word there's no Santa Claus? No wonder nobody wants to play with you. We'll talk when I get back. You stay in your room tomorrow. You're grounded young man!_

She'd hung up on him then. Well, there was no Easter bunny. It was a myth like Santa and the Greek gods and goddesses. Nobody hid anything for him, even if it was only his mom. He hadn't meant to be mean. He didn't realize it was such a big secret. He sat on his bed and stared at the carpet. Nobody understood. He couldn't help what he knew. Why couldn't people understand that? They either treated him like a little kid who didn't know anything or an adult who understood everything. Nobody seemed to be able to get it right.

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"How's it going Everett? I see in Vern Caruthers' column this morning that you may be making some headway on the prostitute killer. A young boy, what could a young boy know?"

She paused and listened.

"A telescope, oh my, well isn't that interesting." She laughed. "What will they think of next? Gave a really good description, did he? Oh a genius, well that helps. Partial license plate, what a clever little guy."

She listened again.

"Oh, as well as can be expected. It's hard you know, but life goes on doesn't it? I won't keep you any longer Everett; I know you're busy. Good talking to you. I will. Yes, good bye."

That wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. She picked up the phone again and punched in a number.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I still own nothing

A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews.

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The team along with a group of SFPD officers hit the streets to see that the sketch got circulated and to talk to some of the prostitutes. Hotch was paired with Morgan, Rossi with JJ and Reid with Prentiss.

Reid and Prentiss were talking to some of the ladies in McKinley Square as one of the dead women had disappeared from that area and it was relatively close to the Mission District. None of the women they'd spoken to remembered seeing a woman who looked like the sketch. Reid and Emily gave them the sketch and asked them to share it with the other ladies on the street and to call them if they saw the woman and to encourage others to do so. They cautioned the women to be extra vigilant and careful.

Hotch and Morgan found themselves wending their way through the lower Haight-Ashbury district, the scene of another disappearance. They handed out more sketches to the women of the street and spoke to some of the homeless near Golden Gate Park, thinking perhaps they had noticed a strange woman in their midst, especially in alleyways, but could glean no new information.

Rossi and JJ were in the Mission District where all of the bodies had been found. No one recognized seeing the woman in the sketch or said they had noticed a blue van in the area. They passed out copies of the sketch to people in the area and encouraged them to call if they spotted the woman or the van.

The team met back at the precinct with nothing to show for their afternoon but sore feet. JJ removed her pumps, massaging her feet as they all relayed a similar story of their afternoon's fruitless endeavors.

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She picked up the phone one the second ring, "Well Mickey."

"Okay, I had to do some digging to get the information and not look suspicious. I had to…"

"Mickey, spare me the theatrics. I really don't care how you got the information. I don't care if you had to stand on your head on Golden Gate Bridge as long as you got me what I need."

"Alright, alright already, jeez, the kid's name is Fletcher Bancroft; he's eight years old and lives at 1432 Windhaven Drive. Parents are Anise Fletcher and Bruce Bancroft. She's a headhunter and he's a physicist at the Fairburn Institute. Both parents are away right now. He's at home with Theresa Montoya, a little Mexican number, kinda cute, probably illeagal."

"That's fine Mickey, I'll let you know if I need anything else."

"Anything else," the voice on the phone raged. "How much do I have to do for you? When are we gonna be even because I'm getting a little sick of this?"

"We'll be even when I say we're even." She hung up the phone without another word.

She stood to pace off some nervous energy. How could this have happened? She'd been so careful. She had to do this, didn't she? She had a mission. How much time did she have before…no, she wouldn't think about that. She had to carry on. She had to do this. She looked at the information she'd gotten from Mickey. She'd be damned if she'd let some brainiac Boy Scout stop her.

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The team had spent the rest of the afternoon and early part of the evening going over calls to the tip lines, hoping that the introduction of the sketch into the community would bring in some kind of lead. When that hope did not bear fruit, the team left for a late dinner.

They sat at a table in an eatery near the precinct. The establishment was busy and the food looked good. The team had agreed not to discuss the case during dinner so they moved on to other topics. JJ had never been to San Francisco before and remarked as she dug into her Lobster Newberg, "I didn't realize it got so cool here."

"Well, the temperatures don't actually get that cold," Reid explained as he cut into his mushroom smothered chicken. "The temperatures range from highs of 60 to 70 degrees and lows of 50 to 55 degrees. The coolness comes from the marine air that blows off the Pacific Ocean to the west, the Golden Gate to the north and the San Francisco bay to the east and is blocked by the Coast and Sierra Nevada mountains to the south."

"Thank you, meteorologist Dr. Spencer Reid," Morgan said as he popped a piece of Teriyaki steak into his mouth.

"I always love coming to San Francisco, well usually I mean," Emily looked at the others and they nodded their understanding that their visits to a city or town were never normal and the place should not be judged by that. "It's such a great place to visit." she stated as she gently fork cut her poached salmon.

"Oh, it's a terrific city." Reid agreed

"Have you been here before Reid," Rossi asked.

"Oh, yeah, we came here when I was six," the young profiler recalled, talking rapidly as he was prone to do when excited about something. "My Mom was lecturing at the university. We had the best time. Mom wasn't sick then and Dad was still with us. We saw all the sights. I thought Dad was going to kill us all when he was driving down Lombard Street." He made a weaving gesture with his hand imitating the motion of one maneuvering down the crooked thoroughfare. "I had never seen so much water, living in the desert, and we went to Alcatraz and Fisherman's Wharf. It was great." He stopped talking to see five people grinning at him. "What,' he said!

"Nothing Reid, it's just all most of us know about your childhood is your mother's illness and your father's leaving you to care for her at such a young age." Hotch responded. "It's so nice to see you smiling, recalling a happy memory from your childhood."

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Fletcher turned over and punched his pillow. Why couldn't he go to sleep? Something was bugging him, if he could just figure out what it was. It could be the fact that his Mom was still mad at him. She'd called before he went to bed and made him explain in detail everything he'd done today. Theresa looked scared stiff when he finished the call. He'd heard her talking rapidly to his Mom in Spanish from the kitchen but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He sure didn't want to be caught eavesdropping or that would be one more thing for his Mom to be mad at him about.

His dad never said anything. He wondered why Mom married him. He never got any say in anything and he always did what Mom said. I guess it was easier that way. His Dad looked at him sometimes like he was sorry for him, he thought, but he would never go against Mom.

It was a really clear night and he had wanted to look through his telescope but with his luck he'd see a UFO which would somehow disgrace the family. He'd look through it tomorrow, if the sky was clear, he thought, as his breathing slowed and sleep overtook him.

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"Reid man, if you take any longer in that shower, I'm coming in there with my gun," Morgan yelled from his bed in the room the two men shared.

"Jeez Morgan, I never yell at you when it's your turn to go first," his partner said coming out of the bathroom, clad in navy blue sweat pants and a Harvard tee shirt, his damp hair combed straight back but beginning to spring into waves. "It's all yours, Grumpy." He threw himself on the bed with his back to the headboard and his long legs crossed in front of him.

"Well, I'm not in there for that long. What do you do in there? On second thought, I might not want to know," Morgan said as he walked toward the bathroom to find himself hit on the back of the head by a flying pillow.

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Fletcher sat bolt upright in bed. He knew who it was! It was her! She was the killer!


	8. Chapter 8

She entered the elegant country home and headed for the basement

Disclaimer: Guess what….

A/N: Thanks as always for the encouragement your reviews give me.

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She entered the elegant country home and headed for the basement. Plastic sheeting covered the floor. The knives sat glistening on the workbench. There was lots of wood for the fire. Everything looked to be in readiness she thought.

She climbed the stairs to the bedroom. She'd always loved this room. It was dominated by a beautiful king size pewter bed with a scroll pattern flowing from a diamond centre in the headboard and footboard. The bed was covered with a spread of mint brocade silk with bamboo leaves and flowers. Windows on either side of the bed that welcomed a morning sun were covered with matching drapes. In the far corner sat a magnolia Tiffany floor lamp behind a mint green wing chair. Matching table lamps sat on the rich ebony nightstands, an ebony dresser and vanity with pewter accents completed the room.

She discarded her chic black suit and undergarments. She opened a closet, removed the items she needed and started to dress. She first donned a black silk and lace bustier, black fishnet lace topped stockings and a leather miniskirt. She sat down at her vanity to apply makeup, heavily around the eyes and lips. Her hand passed by her usual expensive scents to the vanity drawer and came out with a bottle of cheap dime store cologne which she applied liberally. She swept up her shoulder length blond hair and fastened it with pins. She stood and went to another closet and opened the door to reveal a selection of wigs. "I think red tonight," she said as she took a long curly auburn wig off the model head, donned it and made adjustments before the mirror. She liked what she saw. You're looking pretty good for almost fifty, she thought as she stared at her reflection. Of course, she had to admit to herself, plastic surgery could work wonders. She slid her feet into patent leather knee high boots and donned a faux fir jacket. She grabbed a small purse with a shoulder strap, looked in the nightstand and pulled out a fake driver's license and her stun gun. She was ready.

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Reid's cell, that he had left charging on the nightstand, rang. He picked it up thinking it must be Hotch and said sleepily, "Reid."

"Agent Reid" a little voice on the other end said, "This is Fletcher, Fletcher Bancroft. You gave me that card and said I could call you anytime."

"What, what time is it," Reid asked?

"It's 2:42am," the boy responded.

Reid came more awake but whispered so as not to wake his roommate snoring in the next bed. "Fletcher, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

"You said I could call anytime," the boy sounded frightened. "Did I do something wrong again?"

"No Fletcher, you didn't do anything wrong. Just a minute," Reid got up and stumbled into the bathroom, switched on the light and closed the door. "Okay, why are you calling me at this time of night? Is something wrong?"

"I know who it is. I know who the lady is, the one that killed those prostitutes," the boy said excitedly into the phone.

Spencer Reid was fully awake now!

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The young woman whimpered, "Please, please don't do this." She hung, her wrists in cuffs, chained to a bolt in the ceiling. She was naked. Her long dark hair fell to her shoulders or it had until a knife that just whizzed past her left ear sent her locks falling to the floor.

"Shut up you rotten little whore, you insignificant piece of scum," she said, holding the knife against her captive's throat. What's your name?"

"N-Nikki," the frightened woman replied.

"Well Nikki, you and I are going to have a little fun before you die," she said as she swiped the knife swiftly across the whimpering woman's chest, slicing deeply into her left breast. Nikki screamed as the blood started flowing from the wound. "That should do for a start," she said as she put the knife down and headed up the stairs. God, she needed a shower!

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Wendy Dillard tried the number once again. She should be done by now, Wendy thought. She never stayed the whole night and even if she had, she'd answer her phone. Since prostitutes had started going missing and turned up dead, she and Nikki had made a pledge to check on each other every night. When Nikki hadn't called by 1:00am, she'd gotten concerned but now she was downright worried.

She'd changed from her "uniform" into jeans and a warm pullover and hit the streets around the hotels in Union Square and SOMA, Nikki's usual route. She'd asked the desk clerks in some of the hotels, they all knew Nikki, but none had admitted to seeing her. She went to the bars, they knew Nikki as well, but nobody had seen her. She tried Nikki's cell again, and again it continued to ring.

Nikki screamed, and tears ran down her cheeks as her cell phone's ring tone continued to play Fergie's, Big Girls Don't Cry.

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"What do you mean, you know who did this," Reid asked?

"Something was bugging me before I went to sleep but I couldn't figure out what it was. Then it came to me in my sleep. I know where I've seen that lady, the one I saw take that prothtitute," the boy lisped.

"Where, Fletcher, where did you see the woman," Reid replied excitedly?

"At the police station. Remember when we were coming back from the candy machine?" He waited for Reid to reply.

"Um hmm, I remember," Reid responded.

"Remember, there were all those pictures on the wall and I asked who they were and you said they were the past police chiefs and commissioners?" He stopped again.

"Yeah, I remember," Reid said again.

"Remember you said the three at the top were the present ones? She's the lady next to the guy in the middle," the boy concluded.

"Fletcher," Reid said "Are…are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'm positive."

Reid's mouth gaped open, Muriel Dressler, the deputy commissioner, could it really be her?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Need I say more!!

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Reid ended the call with Fletcher, quickly threw on some clothes and ran a comb through his hair. He looked at himself in the mirror and decided shaving could wait. He glanced at his contact lens case, then opted for his glasses. He wrote a quick note for Morgan, grabbed the keys to the SUV and was out the door. He drove at breakneck speed to the precinct with the lights on, though traffic was not heavy at 3:15 am. He parked, jumped out of the vehicle and ran into the precinct.

"Hey, hey, hey," yelled the night desk sergeant, who did not know Reid. "Where do you think you're going fella," coming out from behind his perch and following Reid toward the back of the precinct.

Reid pulled his credentials from the pocket of his brown cord jacket and held them up as the desk sergeant ran behind him. "SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI," he said as he reached the hallway where the pictures were displayed. He stopped and the desk sergeant finally caught up with him. Reid looked at the top three photographs. Police Commissioner Everett Foley was in the middle, flanked on the right by Police Chief Arthur Milner and on the left by Deputy Commissioner Muriel Dressler. He reached and lifted the photo of Dressler off the wall.

"What are you doing with that," the desk sergeant asked?

"I just need it for a minute to check something." He took the picture and headed for the conference room, followed closely by the curious desk sergeant. Reid reached the conference room that had been their home for almost a week, turned on the lights and laid the picture on the table. He grabbed a sketch from the stack on a small table just inside the door and laid it next to the photo. Both men stared at the photo and the sketch.

The desk sergeant gasped,"Oh my God!"

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She was in her comfortable sitting room, dressed now in navy slacks and a powder blue sweater. She sat in the black leather chair and stared at the flames flickering in the brick fireplace. She hadn't wanted leather in this room but her beloved husband had insisted that it would be comfortable. He was right. Through the years the furniture had grown on her and now the familiar chair encircled her body like the hug of an old friend. Her earlier tea had been replaced by her favorite apricot brandy. She sipped it slowly, letting it warm her after her search in the cool night.

Tonight's catch had not been easy. Usually if she told some hooker her john wanted a threesome for some big bucks, the whore would easily follow her into the alley but this one had been different. She had no interest in anything kinky. This girl reminded her of a little Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. The only way she'd gotten her to come with her was to tell her some girl in the alley needed help. Oh well, whatever worked.

Now the only thing she had to worry about was this kid. He'd have to be taken care of. That shouldn't be too difficult, she thought. Mickey said he thought the babysitter was an illegal. That was good. They were so easy to deal with. Once she had the boy taken care of, she'd be free to carry on with her mission. Yes, she smiled as she drained the last of her brandy. Tomorrow…she looked at the clock on the mantle…no, today is going to be a great day. She set down her glass. She'd sleep now. She had much to do later.

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They heard a disturbance out in the main precinct, "Somebody please help me. Somebody." They ran out to the main room to find an obviously distraught young woman. She appeared to be in her early twenties with short strawberry blond hair cut in a wedge. She paced back and forth, wringing her hands. The desk sergeant approached her.

"I'm Sergeant Baskins, what can I do for you miss?"

"It's my friend, she's missing. I'm sure the killer has her. You have to help me," she told them tearfully.

"Who is your friend," asked Reid? He led her to a chair in the precinct's bullpen.

"Her name is Nikki Duval. She's 5'6" and has long dark brown hair. She's nineteen. With what's been going on we've been extra careful and we promised each other we'd call every night to make sure the other is safe."

"Maybe she's…indisposed," Baskins suggested.

"Not for this long," her friend insisted. "It's been hours, she'd know it was me calling. She'd answer if she was okay."

"What's your name, ma'am," Reid asked?

"Oh sorry," the woman sniffed. "Wendy…Wendy Dillard."

"Please, you have to help me find her. She's a great person, you know. I know people think hooker and they think some low life person. Nikki's just trying to get away from an abusive father and boyfriend. She doesn't have anybody here but me. She's a good person. When I was sick and couldn't, you know," she looked at the men who nodded, "She came every day and made sure I was alright. She spent her money on food and medicine for me. She always gives a little bit to the homeless. She never passes them by like other people of higher class. She helps out at the mission. I just know something happened to her."

"Where would she have been when she was taken," Reid inquired?

"She always works Union Square and SOMA.

Reid looked at Sergeant Baskins, "Can you get your patrols in that area to do a grid search?"

"She's not really a missing person for forty-eight hours," Baskins replied, looking sympathetically at Wendy.

"Sergeant, the BAU was called in to assist in the capture of this killer. It's a BAU case. Order the grid search."

"Yes sir, Agent Reid," the sergeant left to follow Reid's orders.

"Miss Dillard, can I get you some coffee or something" Reid said, handing the woman a tissue.

"Is there any tea," she asked?

"I'm sure there is." Reid replied, "I'll be right back. Try not to worry, we'll do everything we can."

"Thank you, Agent Reid." She watched the agent walk away to the break room. She was thankful that he had been here. The sergeant wasn't going to do anything but it seemed the young guy outranked him somehow.

He returned a few moments later with a steaming cup. She could see the string from the teabag hanging over the side. "I didn't know how strong you like it. I brought a creamer and sugar. I didn't know how you take it."

"Thank you, you're very kind."

"Is it okay if I leave you here? I have to go make a call so we can get on finding your friend," the young profiler said, trying to reassure Wendy.

"Yes, I'll be okay," she assured him.

Reid went back to the conference room and looked once again at the picture and the sketch. He took his cell out of his pocket and punched in a number. He waited until the call was answered. "Hotch, we've got a development."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Same disclaimer (unfortunately) still applies.

A/N: Many thanks to all my faithful reviewers.

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Hotch and the rest of the team arrived at the precinct at 6:00 am, looking worse for wear. Reid had called Garcia and she was getting him all the information she could on Muriel Dressler, he informed Hotch when the sleep deprived group filed into the conference room. Each of the team members examined the picture of Muriel Dressler against the sketch provided by Fletcher Bancroft. The likeness was undeniable.

"Reid, this could just be a coincidence that these two women look something alike," Hotch cautioned the team's youngest member.

"Coincidence! Hotch look at them. Take away the hair and it's more than a likeness." Reid pointed at the photo and the sketch on the table.

"Hotch, you gotta admit, it is pretty close," Morgan interjected, "Especially since the kid probably didn't even know what Muriel Dressler looked like. It's not like he's seen pictures of her or anything."

Hotch looked at Reid, noting a thoughtful expression on his face and that he had suddenly gone quiet. "Reid," Hotch asked suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing Hotch," Reid replied absently.

"Reid," Hotch was more forceful with his tone.

"Okay, Fletcher saw that picture of Dressler," Reid replied reluctantly.

"Where was this," Emily asked.

"Here at the precinct."

"When was this," Emily asked again?"

"When we were coming back from the vending machines. He saw all the pictures and asked who they were. But all we did was pass by them. I never told him who anybody was. I actually had to grab him out of the way because a couple of officers came by with a detainee who was struggling and I didn't want Fletcher to get hurt," Reid explained.

The team's heads bowed as a group and their shoulders sagged. Hotch put two fingers on the bridge of his nose and winced as if to stave off a headache.

"So Reid," Rossi stated, "What you're telling us is, before Fletcher gave his description to the sketch artist, just minutes before, I might add," Rossi's voice rose with each word, "He saw a picture of Muriel Dressler. Not only did he see her picture but he saw it when he was being pulled out of the way of a struggling prisoner, when his adrenaline would have kicked in. What are the effects of adrenaline on memory?"

"Tunnel vision, thus enhancing visual concentration" Reid said quietly.

"And," JJ added. "What aren't you saying?"

"The memories become more vivid," Reid concluded, speaking as fast as he could.

"Oh Reid," Hotch's tone was a mixture of anger and sympathy. "You know what that means don't you? We can't rely on this sketch."

"Oh well isn't that just great. No wonder nobody recognized her," Morgan erupted.

"I don't think that's necessarily true. Fletcher scored high on serial and parallel processing. His description is probably accurate as to what he saw," Reid argued.

"Yeah Reid, it's obviously very accurate," Emily said, holding up the picture and the sketch, "But is this what he saw through his telescope or two minutes before he was called to give his description. You know what a lawyer will make out of this."

"Reid, we have no choice," Rossi spelled out sadly. "The sketch is suspect now. We have to disregard it."

Reid looked dejected. "What about a line up," he asked.

"You want us to ask the deputy commissioner to be part of a line up," Morgan said with disbelief. "Well, it'd be the first time we'd be laughed out of town."

"That would be no good anyway," Emily stated. "In his mind, Fletcher's decided who it is and he's seen her picture. He'd be predisposed to pick her."

"Especially with his high level of serial and parallel processing, whatever the hell that is," JJ added.

"But…" Reid uttered.

"No buts Reid," Hotch said, "Let's just hope this hasn't done some real damage."

"What damage, we were nowhere any…" Reid's cell rang. "I've got to take this." Reid left the conference room as the team collectively shook their heads.

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The phone beside his bed rang. He opened his eyes and looked through a fuzzy haze at the clock. Who the hell would be calling him at this time? His hand fumbled around until it grasped the receiver and brought it to his ear. "H'lo," his only half conscious mind droned.

"Mickey," said the sharp female voice of his nightmares.

Mickey's eyes opened and he became instantly alert. "Jeez Louise, do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I do Mickey, it's precisely 6:32 am and time for you to get up," said the authoritative voice that was used to giving orders and having them followed. "I have a job for you."

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"Hi Garcia, what have you got for me," he asked when he was in the deserted hallway.

"Okay, Muriel Dressler, born Muriel Findlay, June 7th, 1959 in Lincoln, Nebraska. Nothing of note in her childhood. Graduated high school with honors. Came to San Francisco to attend the University of San Fran and received a degree in criminology. She then went into the police academy. She started as a beat cop, promoted to sergeant, then detective, then lieutenant. Good record on the force, three commendations and two citations for bravery. Married at thirty-eight to Mackenzie Dressler." Reid stopped her.

"Garcia, is he the multimillionaire investment banker," he asked?

"The same, smarty pants. At forty-five she became an assistant in the commissioner's office and two years ago, deputy commissioner. She just became a widow, husband died of cancer."

That's all you got," Reid asked?

"That's all for now. When I get more, I'll call one of you," the computer tech informed him.

"Garcia, you better call me," Reid said tentatively.

"Why just you," Garcia asked suspiciously?

"It's complicated. Bye Garcia." Reid closed his cell phone.

Garcia looked at her babies. "What's that about?"

Reid returned to the conference room to find his teammates in a foul mood and Reid suspected he was about to make it worse. "Hotch, I think another prostitute has gone missing."

Hotch turned to look at Reid, "What, when?"

"Last night," Reid relayed to the team about Wendy Dillard's concerns for Nikki Duval. "She's really worried Hotch and from what she says, I think she has good reason to be. I got Sergeant Baskins to order a grid search of Union Square and SOMA, that's Nikki's usual territory."

"SOMA," JJ asked?

"South of Market," Reid replied. "Anyway, so far nothing has come from the grid search."

"The autopsy reports revealed that the five women were cut, tortured, over several days," Rossi recalled. "The first cuts were about three days old, so if she's sticking to her timeline we have less than three days to find this young woman before she's killed."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: Thanks to all who continue to make my day with their reviews and those who have added the story to their alerts.

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Morgan was looking at the white board. "Stella Cohen was the first victim; he pointed to a picture of a naked body cut in numerous places. Then, six days later, the second victim Moira Peters is found; seven days after that, Debbie Shamanski; eight days later Shannon Buckley and six days after that Glenda Ronafeld. There doesn't seem to be any escalation in the time between the murders and all of these murders have taken place in the last twenty-seven days and now she's probably taken another one. What happened a month ago to start this woman killing," he asked as he took a seat at the table?

Reid's cell phone rang, "Reid," he said as he quickly swallowed a mouthful of the Boston cream donut he was eating.

"Hi Agent Reid," a little voice said, "It's Fletcher."

"Hi Fletcher," the team turned to look at Reid as he talked to the child.

"Did you catch that lady," the boy asked, "the one I told you about."

Reid shut his eyes and sighed, "No Fletcher, not yet."

"Why, don't you know where she lives? Why don't you just go get her?"

"Well, you see Fletcher, we don't have any evidence and you can't arrest someone without evidence."

"But isn't an eyewitness, evidence," the boy sounded confused.

"Yes Fletcher, but we don't think we'll be able to use the sketch," Reid explained to the boy.

"Why not, I don't understand," the boy sounded baffled.

"Okay, um, the team feels that since you saw the deputy commissioner's picture just before you gave the description, the memory might have been from that and not from what you saw via your telescope, especially since there was an upset just before when I had to pull you out of the way of that prisoner. Do you understand?"

"Uh huh, I get what you're saying. I'm not lying Agent Reid and I'm not wrong. That was the lady I saw." The boy steadfastly stood by his statement and description. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes," Reid replied. The team watched as Reid talked to the boy and explained everything to him about the adrenaline rush and the effects of the hormone on memory. From the detail the profiler put into his discussion, they found it hard to believe Reid was talking to an eight year old child. "Well Fletcher, we'll have to do that. Okay. Bye."

"We'll have to do what Reid," Morgan said after Reid closed his cell and returned it to his pocket.

"Fletcher understands why we aren't using the sketch although he says he is not lying and he is not wrong," Reid reported to the team.

What did you mean with we'll have to do that," JJ repeated Morgan's query?

"Well, Fletcher asked since we couldn't use the sketch had we checked to see if the lady owned a blue van." Reid looked at them all. "He's right, if the sketch is out, shouldn't we at least check something else instead of dismissing him totally."

"Reid, listen man, I know you like this kid and you kind of identify with him but he's eight years old and kids at that age have a lot of imagination," Morgan told his partner while he was spinning a pen in his hands.

Reid got up from his chair, pacing the room. "Yeah Morgan, I do identify with this kid. No one in this room or even in this building understands what his life is like, but I do. Imagination, hell yeah, I'm sure he's got a great one. It's a benchmark trait of all geniuses. Look at Walt Disney, you don't think he had a lot of imagination. Thomas Edison, the Wright Brothers, you name me a genius and I'll show you evidence of their imagination, but do I think Fletcher would use his in a situation like this, no, he's got enough brain power to understand the severity of the situation. I think we should check for a blue van, can't hurt." He pulled out his cell phone again. "Garcia…"

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A titanium Toyota Camry drove into the alley behind 1432 Windhaven Drive. Mickey Donovan exited the vehicle quietly and surveyed the yard and the neighborhood. He walked along the cobblestone path to the front door of the modern stone fronted two story home and rang the doorbell. He studied the ornate front door featuring a large oval window with smoky beveled glass and embossed calla lilies. Theresa opened the door and Mickey thought 'woo hoo, aren't you a lovely little enchilada.' Theresa looked questioningly at the man. "Yes Senor," she said.

Mickey could see the look of fright on the woman's face and it was so damned alluring. He pulled his badge out of his inside pocket and flashed it very quickly, knowing this frightened woman would never question him. "Neil Fitzroy," he said, "SFPD. The FBI has some more questions for the boy and they sent me to get him."

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Reid's cell rang again and he checked the call display as he answered, "Garcia, have you got something for me?"

"Sorry sweet thing, I checked vehicle registrations on both Muriel Dressler and her husband and there is no blue van registered to either of them."

"Okay Garcia, thanks for trying." He closed his cell and returned it to his pocket, looking dejected.

"No blue van I take it," JJ said from her seat at the table. Reid shook his head.

"Hey man," Morgan stated, "Maybe you should just forget about this kid. You're getting too close to this. I mean it's messing with your head and we need that big ole brain of yours to solve this thing."

"I'm good Morgan, I'm fine. I'm doing my job aren't I?"

"I think what Morgan means," JJ added sympathetically. "Is that you're concentrating too much on the boy and not on the case."

"I am not!" Reid said defensively. He looked at his teammates who eyed him skeptically. "I am not!" He repeated.

"Reid," Hotch remarked, "It's obvious that you've felt a connection to this boy from the moment you met."

"It's totally understandable," Emily added. "You two speak the same language. You get each other in a way none of us can."

"And Reid, you know you do have a history of getting a little overly involved with people on a case," Morgan reminded his partner.

"What do you mean a history," Reid wanted to know.

"Well Reid, it wasn't me soaking wet in my clothes, kissing Lila Archer in that pool in LA." Morgan giggled at the memory. Reid's face flushed crimson as the others in the room looked at him. Prentiss and Rossi both raised their eyebrows. Prentiss seemed surprised but intrigued while Rossi looked surprised but amused. JJ was uncomfortably embarrassed for her friend while Hotch's mouth set in to a grim line of annoyance.

"Ooh Reid, do tell," Emily begged.

"It was nothing," Reid said with his head down. "I fell into the pool."

"Well that would explain the wet clothes part of the story," Rossi said with a grin.

"I didn't k..kiss her. She kissed me, and I tried to explain to her about transference and everything but she didn't appear to be listening." The team all had their heads down attempting not to laugh at the young profiler's predicament. Reid protested, "It's not my fault that…" when there was a knock at the door. Reid, glad for the interruption, jumped up and reached the door in a couple of long lanky strides and opened it to see Officer Grayson standing nervously in the hallway.

"Oh good, Dr. Reid, there's something you need to hear!"


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: If you don't know by now…

A/N: Thanks so much for the kind words and your thoughts that make me smile and laugh. It's a highlight of my day reading your reviews.

Special thanks to joolnik for helping me revise my Spanish translation.

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Officer Grayson led them to the dispatch centre, explaining as he went, "They patched this over from 911 after they contacted the field office here and were told that you were working out of this precinct." They entered the dispatch room. Two female officers sat in front of a control panel. "Okay Elaine, you can play it for them," he said to a middle aged brunette with a short messy bob. Elaine nodded and pushed a button. The team listened to the recording.

"911, what is your emergency," said a female voice.

"Help," screamed a child's voice. "He's got handcuffs on me and he's hurting Theresa."

"That's Fletcher," Reid was shaken to hear the frightened little voice. They could hear a woman screaming in the background, saying something undistinguishable in Spanish.

"He wants to take me away, tell Agent Reid." A man could be heard cursing in the background and the sound of fist meeting flesh, the child and the woman both screaming and then the line went dead.

"Units were dispatched to 1432 Windhaven Drive," Officer Grayson informed them. "The woman was there babbling in Spanish. She won't let anyone near her. The child was nowhere to be found."

Reid dug the keys to the SUV out of the pocket of his tan cords and headed out the door. "Reid wait," Morgan called after him, following closely behind his partner.

Reid went a few steps and stopped, turning to his team with contempt. "While everyone was so busy enjoying poking fun at my exploits in LA, some bastard was doing who knows what to Fletcher and Theresa. Still think it's his imagination Morgan? Who, but someone in this precinct, could have had access to who Fletcher is and where he lives. If anything happens to that boy, we should all be damned to hell." He turned and once again headed for the exit.

The team stood shocked for a moment at Reid's explosive outburst while all action and sound seemed to stop in the precinct, as if someone had pressed a pause button, and the only thing moving in the entire precinct was the very irate Dr. Spencer Reid. Prentiss was the first to snap out of it. "Reid, hang on, I'm coming with you." She ran to catch up with him.

"You don't need to Emily." Reid replied.

"Listen, Theresa has just been attacked by a man. She's not letting anyone near her. She's been traumatized and she's probably in shock. I think she'd appreciate another woman." Reid nodded at the wisdom of this. "And anyway, I speak better Spanish than you."

"Come on then, let's go," he held the door open for Prentiss to precede him outside.

Hotch, his dark eyes blazing, was galvanized into action, "I want the watch commander now," he sharply addressed Officer Grayson who left hurriedly to find the man. "JJ, please contact Fletcher's parents, their numbers should be in the file. Rossi, Morgan, pay Deputy Commissioner Dressler a visit. Alright everybody let's move!"

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Reid and Emily arrived at the Bancroft home in record time with lights and sirens. Emergency vehicles were at the house. Curious onlookers had begun to congregate on the street to see what was going on.

There were police officers and paramedics standing around waiting for someone to convince Theresa to accept help. Reid and Prentiss entered the house. The foyer was a disaster. A table near the staircase had been knocked over and an expensive looking vase lay shattered on the floor. The telephone lay halfway across the room, also shattered. There was blood on the hardwood floor near the oak credenza that had held the telephone and drops leading to the back door. Reid noticed something in one of the blood drops. He went closer to examine it and his stomach turned at the sight of a child's tooth. In the farthest corner, scrunched up to make herself as small as possible sat Theresa.

Emily approached the young woman cautiously. "Theresa, mi nombre es Emily. ¿Te encuentras bien," she said.

Theresa whimpered, "Ese hombre me atacó." Theresa's dress was ripped, her left eye was swollen shut and her lip was bleeding and swollen.

"Theresa, ¿estás herida. ¿Él te violó." Emily asked the frightened woman while Reid talked to the first responders.

"No," Theresa replied tearfully. "El paqueño trato de detenerlo. Él lo estaba pateanhen. Luego él llamo al 911 y el hombre lo golpeó."

They spoke for a few more minutes and Emily patted her hand reassuringly. "Nosotros te cuidaremos. Puedes confiar en nosotros." She rose to join Reid.

"What did she say," Reid asked.

"She said he told her when he arrived that he was with the police," Emily began. "He flashed a badge saying the FBI needed to talk to Fletcher again but she said it didn't seem right to Fletcher and he went to the phone to call Agent Reid and that's when the man grabbed him and put the cuffs on him. He attacked her but didn't rape her, I guess he tried but she said the little one was kicking him and then he called 911." They looked at a pencil sitting by a pad where the telephone had been. It appeared to be covered with saliva.

Reid pointed his gloved finger at it, but didn't touch it, until it had been photographed. "He must have used that to punch in the numbers. That was when the guy attacked him and took him away. There's blood over there with a kid's tooth in it."

Emily put a hand on his arm. "Reid, we'll find him. Let's take care of Theresa. She's afraid to go to the hospital; she's afraid they'll send her back to Mexico. I told her we'd take care of her and she can trust us. I think she believed me because I'm with you and Fletcher trusted you."

"Yeah, a lot of good it did him."

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Watch Commander Brian Oakland entered the conference room. "You wanted to see me Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes Commander, who's been privy to the information about this case," Hotch asked?

"Just the people in the precinct and not all of them likely know much," the Commander responded.

"Someone in this precinct gave the name and address of that boy to a man who took him and may intend to harm him. We are going to find out who did that and so help me God, that child better not be hurt or that person will be facing accessory charges. We'll start by interviewing everyone individually and if that doesn't work we'll go into phone logs and key strokes. Please get started on a list of everyone I need to talk to."

"I'll get on it right away, Agent Hotchner." The Commander turned and left the room.

JJ entered, "Were you able to reach Fletcher's parents," Hotch inquired?

"Yes, I spoke to his mother. She's a cold fish if there ever was one. She was angry that Fletcher had called the tip line in the first place instead of being proud of him for doing the right thing. She thinks he should have just ignored what he saw. Then she asked if she was really needed here while we look for him because her negotiations were at a crucial stage. I said I thought Fletcher would probably want his mother here when he's found. You know what she said," Hotch shook his head. "She said Fletcher is a very independent child. Hotch, she doesn't seem to care that her son is likely in the hands of a serial killer."

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Rossi and Morgan drove up to the gates of the Dressler estate. They pushed the button and announced themselves.

The phone in the sitting room rang. She picked it up, "Yes."

"Ma'am there are two men from the FBI here to see you," said the voice from the security office.

"Fine, open the gates for them," she hung up the phone and rang the bell beside her chair.

"Yes ma'am," Rosa said entering the room.

"Make some tea Rosa, we have company."

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**A/N**: I have revised my first translations with the help of joolnik (greatly appreciate the help)

Theresa, mi nombre es Emily. ¿Te encuentras bien. – Theresa, my name is Emily. Are you alright.

Ese hombre me atacó – The man attacked me.

Theresa, ¿estás herida? ¿Él te violó?. – Theresa, are you hurt. Did he rape you.

El pequeño trato de detenerlo. Él lo estaba pateanhen. ′Luego él llamó al 911 y el hombre lo golpeó. – The little one tried to stop him. He was kicking him. Then he called 911 and the man hit him.

Nosotros te cuidaremos. Puedes confiar en nosotros. – We'll take care of you. You can trust us.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Same old story

A/N: Thanks to all my kind reviewers for making me smile daily.

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Reid and Prentiss were at San Francisco General with Theresa. Emily had accompanied the young woman into the examination room along with Carolyn Hayes, a female CSI. Emily patiently explained the procedures to Theresa in Spanish, as the kind middle aged woman took scrapings from under the domestic's fingernails. She took photos of Theresa's swollen eye and lips as well as the bruises on the rest of her body. She also bagged Theresa's ripped uniform. When questioned about insurance, Emily informed the hospital personnel that the patient had none. Eyebrows raised but Emily stalled any thoughts of reporting Theresa by saying that she was a material witness in a federal investigation and her presence here was imperative. Emily suggested the hospital send the bill to the Bancrofts. She was sure they would be happy to pay it.

Reid, pacing in the waiting area, called and spoke to Hotch, filling him in on the situation with Theresa. Hotch informed the young profiler about what the rest of the team was doing to find Fletcher. Reid relayed Theresa's account of what happened. "He said he was a police officer Hotch! I don't know if he really was or he just had some ID that would pass if you didn't look too closely. You know Theresa wouldn't look too closely. We're going to wait and take her back home, her injuries aren't serious enough for hospitalization. Then we're coming in. Can we get pictures of all the cops in SFPD over to Theresa so she can see if she can pick him out?" Hotch said he would see that the pictures were sent over.

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Hotch looked at the woman in the doorway, "Marilyn Kline," she said. "I was told to report here for questioning."

Hotch waved the officer in with his fingers as he finished on the phone with Reid. "Please sit down Officer Kline. I'm going to ask you about the information you know on the murders we're investigating and you had better be truthful, a child's life may depend on it. Have you read any of the reports…"

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Rosa ushered the two agents into the sitting room that was furnished with a black leather sofa facing a brick fireplace in a soft shade of sandstone with two black leather chairs on either side of it. The mantel held a beautifully ornate antique clock and pictures of Muriel Dressler and her husband. The eye was immediately drawn to a picture hanging above the mantel of a sunset on the water. The painting was alive with vibrant oranges, reds, yellows and purples, yet the calm water made the setting tranquil. A Persian rug with the same vibrant colors was lying in front of the hearth. A glass coffee table with legs of the same sandstone color sat in front of the sofa with smaller round tables nestled beside each chair, each holding a Tiffany lamp with colors reflected in the painting. The back wall featured a floor to ceiling bookcase that contained books as well as photographs and ornaments. A large bay window flooded the room with light giving it an airy feel despite the dark furniture.

Rossi and Morgan produced their ID and Muriel Dressler said, "Please sit down, Rosa is preparing tea." They had both seen the picture of the deputy commissioner but upon meeting her both Rossi and Morgan were briefly shocked by her beauty. Her picture did not do her justice, they thought. She could easily have graced the cover of any fashion magazine. Her long blond hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves framing a face that featured bewitching green eyes, high cheekbones, a delicately shaped nose and lips although not too full were not thin. Her makeup was impeccable. Her figure was trim and firm. Her beige plaid jacket with hints of rose over a high collared ivory silk blouse and a full brown skirt that ended at her knees were chic but not overstated. Her shoes were expensive bronze toned T strap pumps that accentuated her shapely legs. The way she carried herself said she knew men looked at her and she liked it.

"We didn't come here to drink tea," Morgan blurted out angrily. "We're here because an eight year old boy is missing after he described you to a sketch artist as the woman who's been murdering these prostitutes."

"And you're going to take the word of an eight year old child over mine," she stated sternly. "Children are known to fabricate. They have wild imaginations. It's part of the job description for being a child, I believe." Her words stung Morgan like a slap as he remembered his own words to Reid only a short time before.

"The fact remains, Deputy Commissioner," Rossi stated, "That the child described you except for the hair which we all know can be easily altered."

"I'm sure the boy just saw my picture somewhere. I am rather well known in the city. I attend a lot of charity functions and my picture is in the papers frequently. That's probably what happened. Just a moment," she said as she got up and left the room. Shortly thereafter Rosa entered with a silver tray loaded down with a shining silver tea service, three cups and saucers in a fine ivory and gold bone china, three ivory damask napkins with a laurel leaf pattern and a plate of homemade cookies. She nodded briefly at the profilers and left the room.

Muriel Dressler reentered the room a few minutes later carrying an appointment book. "When was this boy supposed to have seen me," she asked?

"Five days ago at 10:07 pm," Morgan answered curtly.

She passed them the appointment book. "As you can see, I was talking to Roy Baush, an old friend in Seattle. Check with him if you like." Morgan and Rossi looked at the book and Muriel Dressler gave them the man's number. "As for the boy going missing, I've been here all day. Check with Rosa if you like."

"We know it wasn't you who took the kid," Morgan responded. "It appears it was a man. It could be someone working for you or someone trying to protect you."

"When you find out, I'd appreciate if you'd let me know. Would you care for some tea," she asked the agents in her most dignified manner.

"No, thank you, Deputy Commissioner, we have a child to find and a murderer to catch," Rossi replied to her offer. The two agents stood to leave and Dressler tinkled her bell. Rosa appeared almost immediately.

"Rosa, please show the gentlemen out," she ordered.

"Rosa," Rossi asked as she showed them to the door, "Was Mrs. Dressler home last night?"

"She was in the sitting room when I went to bed sir. I do not keep track of Mrs. Dressler's movements."

"Thank you," Rossi replied as he and Morgan left the home.

"Well she's a pretty cool customer," Morgan said as they walked to the SUV.

"You're right about that," Rossi answered, donning his sunglasses. "That means we need to find a way to turn up the heat."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Yada, yada, yada…..

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed and thanks to cc for the laugh.

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Reid and Emily had returned to the precinct after seeing that Theresa got safely to the Bancrofts' home. Felicia Herrera, a young policewoman fluent in Spanish, was staying with her as she went through the photographs. A sketch artist had also been dispatched.

Hotch informed the two agents that he had talked to quite a few of the officers in the precinct and so far had had no luck in finding anyone who would admit to passing on any information regarding Fletcher despite Hotch's attempts to put the fear of God in them.

JJ related what had transpired during her conversation with Fletcher's mother. Reid's brown eyes blazed and he clamped his mouth tightly shut as he walked over to look out the window. The group could see him curling and uncurling his hands from fists, attempting to control his emotions. JJ also mentioned she had spoken with Vern Caruthers at the Chronicle, who assured her he had not said anything to anyone other than what he had written in his column and he stressed that he hadn't known any details. She'd also called Chris Jansen, to give him the heads up on Fletcher's predicament and inform him she'd spoken with Anise Fletcher.

Rossi and Morgan arrived and relayed the gist of their conversation with Muriel Dressler. "She's a real cool customer, I'll give you that," Morgan stated. "I've got Garcia checking into the phone call with this Roy Baush in Seattle."

"Is she hiding something," Hotch asked?

"You wouldn't think so by the way she talks," Rossi replied. "She's very lady of the manor like, but I get the impression, and it's just a feeling mind you, that she could get down and dirty if you crossed her."

"Which is exactly what little Fletcher did," Emily added.

The team's attention was caught by a loud rap on the door. Rossi, who was closest strode over and opened it. They had never met the man standing in the hallway but they all knew who he was. Police Commissioner Everett Foley did not look happy, in fact, he looked very angry. He shut the door with a loud bang that left no doubt as to his frame of mind. "Agent Hotchner, I understand from Deputy Commissioner Dressler that two of your agents visited her this afternoon to question her about the murders of these prostitutes because of a sketch that came from the mind of an eight year old child. Do you realize who Muriel Dressler is? You do understand that she has given most of her life to fighting crime in this city? Are you aware she's on compassionate leave because she just lost her husband and you go to her home with this insane idea…"

"Insane!" Reid sprang from his place at the window. "The little boy who gave us that description has been abducted by someone identifying himself as an SFPD officer. Why would that happen if someone wasn't afraid of what Fletcher saw and the only person who would have cause to be afraid is Muriel Dressler and she'd be in a position to get information that hasn't been released outside this precinct, wouldn't she?" The commissioner looked taken aback by the young profiler's vehemence.

"Unless you have definite undeniable evidence," the commissioner said slowly and forcefully, "I do not want anyone going near Muriel Dressler."

"Why did you ask us to come here if you don't want us to get to the truth?" Reid was almost toe to toe with the man now.

"Reid," Hotch said, shaking his head almost imperceptibly at the young profiler. "We'll try to be as cognizant as possible of Mrs. Dressler's grief commissioner but we will go where the investigation leads and right now we have a child who's missing and a young woman who may be being tortured as we speak so I would appreciate it if you would let us do what we came here to do."

Foley turned and opened the door and turned back to the team, saying, "Just watch your step," before going out the door and closing it behind him.

"Well," Rossi said, "We must have hit on something if the lady sent the commissioner to clip our wings."

"Reid, what the hell was that man," Morgan asked his usually mild mannered teammate.

"Reid, I think you need to step back from this," Hotch said. "You're too close. Why don't you go back to the hotel and get a little sleep. We all got most of a night's sleep but you didn't get much. You look like hell."

Reid recalled that he had rushed out in the middle of the night without shaving, without his contacts. He probably did look like hell he thought. "I'll sleep once we find Fletcher," was all he said.

"Have you had anything to eat Reid," JJ inquired. "We all had breakfast and Hotch and I had a sandwich from the deli at lunch."

"Dave and I grabbed a hamburger from the drive thru on the way back from Dressler's place," Morgan stated.

"I had something at the hospital," Emily proceeded when the others looked her way. "The nurses wanted Theresa to eat something in case she didn't feel up to making herself something later and they thought she'd be more likely to eat if I ate with her."

All eyes turned to Reid, "I had that half donut this morning. We've been busy." He answered their looks.

"Reid," Hotch said in a forceful tone, "Go get something to eat."

Reid headed for the door and turned back to his teammates. "When that little boy was in trouble he called 911 and it wasn't any of your names he mentioned. He's counting on me to help him. Yeah, I identify with him. I know what struggles he faces because of his intellect. I know that because he can use and understand big words and do complex math problems, people think he's a miniature adult but he's not. Even though he knows intellectually that there's no tooth fairy, he still wishes for something under his pillow even if it's just from his mom. He's tough and he's strong and he's smart up here," he tapped the side of his head with his index finger, "But in here," he pounded his fist on his chest, "He's just a little boy who sometimes more than anything just wants his mommy."

He turned again and left the room heading down to get a sandwich from the vending machines. His shoulders sagged like the weight of the heavens was pressing on him. He was looking at the numerous unappetizing selections when a fiftyish officer with a graying receding hairline and a mustache to match, approached him.

"What's this I hear about you guys questioning Muriel? Are you crazy," he exclaimed, his tone litigious. "She's not involved in anything like this. I've known her for years, we were rookies together. She started out as a beat cop just like the rest of us and she came up through the ranks. She didn't get anything handed to her." He laughed at a memory. "I remember our early days. My beat was the Union Square area. She used to make me laugh when we'd leave the precinct after roll call and report. She'd recite her beat, eighteenth and Mission to twenty-sixth, twenty-sixth to Castro, Castro to eighteenth, eighteenth to Mission. Some days she'd say, maybe I'll start at Castro today just to shake them up."

Reid dashed back to the conference room, the man standing in the hallway and the sandwich forgotten. He flung the door open saying, "What part of town does a cop know better than any other?"

The team looked up and Emily said, "Next to his own neighborhood, I would say his or her beat, why?"

Reid went over to the map he'd been studying for days and drew a square with a red marker from eighteenth and Mission to twenty-sixth, down twenty-sixth to Castro, along Castro to eighteenth and up eighteenth to Mission. "Guess whose beat was the Mission District."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: One more time, I own nothing

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, the support is greatly appreciated.

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The team had decided to head down to the mission district now that they had more than just a generic sketch to work with. Rossi, Hotch and JJ rode in one SUV while Morgan, Reid and Emily were taking the second one. Morgan sat tapping on the steering wheel, waiting impatiently for Emily who had said she needed to use the ladies' room. When she emerged from the precinct her hands were full and she motioned for Reid to open his door. After he did so, she placed a chicken salad sandwich, a container of yogurt with a plastic spoon, an apple and a bottle of water on his lap. "Eat," she admonished.

Reid chomped hungrily on his meal as they drove to the Mission Delores which was the heart of the mission district. "It's beautiful," JJ said as they stood outside of the quaint white building.

"It is that," agreed Emily.

"Its real name," Reid told them, "Is Mission San Francisco de Asis. It was named after St. Francis of Asis. The land was claimed by Father Francisco Palou in 1776. It was built near a lagoon, Nuestra Senora de los Delores. Its adobe walls are four feet thick and that's likely why it has been able to withstand San Francisco's earthquakes. The huge Basilica was built in 1918."

"Very good young man," said a voice behind them. They turned to see an elderly priest. "Although you are right, the walls are four feet thick, we like to think that our Father had something to do with the fact that our mission still stands." He reached out his hand to Reid. "Hello, I am Father Manuel Ortega. You know a lot about the mission but you did not come here as a tourist. You are troubled. Can I help? If not," he pointed towards the mission, "There's always One who can."

"Hello Father," Reid took the man's hand, thinking the priest would make a fine profiler. "You're right; we're not here to sightsee. We're from the FBI and we're investigating the murders of the prostitutes whose bodies have been dumped in your area." He introduced the team to Father Ortega.

"Father, do you know Deputy Commissioner Muriel Dressler," Hotch asked the man?

"Oh yes, everyone around here knows Senora Dressler. She used to be a police officer down here and she and her husband have been strong supporters of the mission and have attended many services and many of the functions we've had here. Regretfully her husband was called to the Lord recently."

"Yes," Emily said, "That's what we understand. Was he ill?"

"Oh, yes, he had some form of cancer. Senora Dressler wasn't forthcoming and I didn't pry. She knew I was always here if she needed to talk. It was so sad to see him getting weaker every time I saw them and he hated having to go into the wheelchair but he just didn't have the strength to get around for the last little while."

"He was in a wheelchair," they all said together.

"This is very important Father," Rossi said. "How did they get around with the wheelchair? I mean, was it in the back of the car or what?"

"Well, at first they had it in the back of the car and would bring it out and he would get out of the car and transfer into the chair but later he was too weak to transfer so he stayed in the chair all the time and they had one of those vans that they use for the handicapped."

"Father," Morgan asked, "Do you remember what color it was?"

"It was dark blue," the elderly cleric answered. Reid closed his eyes and briefly nodded at the priest's response. "Why do you ask, you don't think she had something to do with this?"

"That's the way our investigation is heading Father," Hotch answered.

The priest's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, "¡Santa Madre de Dios," he said as he crossed himself. "There must be some mistake."

"Father, have you seen Mrs. Dressler around here at all when she wasn't expected or has anyone said they've seen her here," Rossi asked, then added "A young boy and a young woman's lives may depend on this."

"I have not seen the senora but I can ask the parishioners."

"We would really appreciate that Father, thank you," Hotch said and he gave the priest his card as the elderly man left them saying he would pray for them all.

As they walked away from the mission Morgan grabbed Reid's arm, "Hey Reid, I'm sorry for what I said about Fletcher man. You were right."

"That doesn't matter Morgan," Reid replied. "What matters is that we find him and Nikki Duval alive."

"Well, we now know she owned a blue van and that she was still involved in the mission district," Emily stated. "Which is probably what made it part of her comfort zone."

Reid moved off to the side, pulling out his cell and punched the speed dial. "Omnipotent Goddess of knowledge, speak."

"I hope so Garcia, I certainly hope so," Reid answered.

"What, you doubt me angel. Hey what's got you so down sweet thing?"

"Garcia, Fletcher's been taken. We're sure Muriel Dressler's got him. She had a blue van. The priest at the mission said so. I don't care what the records say. Find me that van. Also, when did Dressler's husband die?"

"Okay, the husband is easy, just a sec, thirty-one days ago. And I'm on the van sweet boy. I will find it. They can't hide from Penelope Garcia."

"Thanks Garcia, you said it was cancer?"

"That's what it says in the announcement," the tech reported.

"Can you dig deeper?"

"Officially, no I can't, but if I happen to 'accidentally' stumble on to something, you're the first number I call. I also checked on the phone alibi. She was talking to Roy Baush at that time, he confirms." Reid started to groan. "Let me finish sweetcheeks, she told Baush to call her at that time and he did, however, checking her phone records, her phone was on call forwarding. The lady wasn't home when she took that call, it was forwarded to her cell phone. Now smile for me, okay! Garcia out," the connection ended. Reid glanced at the phone and, in spite of the situation, found himself smiling.

Reid turned back to the group, "I just talked to Garcia, Dressler's husband died thirty-one days ago. What do you bet that's the stressor?"

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The titanium Toyota Camry sat abandoned on a deserted country road in the Napa Valley. Fletcher Bancroft lay in the trunk, his hands cuffed behind his back. Was anyone coming for him he wondered? How could they find him when they had no idea where he was? They didn't believe him anyway, well Agent Reid believed him, at least somebody did. Oh his mom was going to be really mad now. Maybe she'd just hope they never found him. It was getting so hot in here. He knew there was a latch somewhere but he couldn't find it in the dark with his hands behind his back. Sometimes the back seat folded down, he thought, as he maneuvered himself around and pushed on the back seat with his legs. The seat wasn't budging. He was so thirsty. Wait, was that a noise? Someone was getting in the car. Had the man come back? The motor started and the vehicle started to move. Where were they going he wondered? They drove for a short time and then stopped. He heard the driver's door bang shut and suddenly the trunk door sprang open. He squinted as the light hit his eyes that had been in the dark so long. Finally he was able to open them but the image was too fuzzy to make out.

"Well, we meet at last," a woman's voice said as a stun gun hit him on the neck.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: You know, I own nada, zilch, zero, nothing!

A/N: Thanks to all those who continue to support the story and give me your feedback. You're great!

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The team was somewhat disheartened as they walked through the door of the conference room after their visit to the Mission District. They had spoken to a large number of people and though almost everyone knew who Muriel Dressler was, no one would admit to seeing her near any of the dump sites. Hence the afternoon's work had yielded no answers and only more questions. "Why would Dressler's husband's death from cancer make her want to go out and kill prostitutes. What's the connection," JJ asked as they sat at the conference table?

"At least we have confirmation that everything Fletcher told us is, in fact, the truth," Reid stated. "Muriel Dressler does have a blue van, not only a blue van but a blue van converted for the handicapped. He saw her use a stun gun and there are stun gun burns on the victims and that information's never been released. I think the fact that everything Fletcher told us about the unsub, also being substantiated by what we've learned about Muriel Dressler, puts this," he picked up the sketch and placed it in the center of the conference table, "Clearly back in the evidence pile." This time none of his teammates could disagree.

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Fletcher regained consciousness slowly. Where was he, he wondered? He was in the dark again but this was different. He could feel light around the edges of his eyes. He was in the dark because there was something wrapped around his eyes. How long had he been asleep? The lady had hit him with the stun gun and he fell down, his muscles just wouldn't work. He thought he remembered throwing up. His neck hurt where the stun gun hit him. His hands were still handcuffed behind his back. He wasn't in the car anymore so where was he? He tried to stand up but his legs felt really wobbly and he couldn't use his hands for support. If he could just stand up for a few min…"Ouch," the boy said as his head hit something. His hair seemed to catch in it and it pulled as he tugged his head away. What was that, he thought as he sat again? Underneath him was hard and cold. He backed up until his hands hit something, he felt it, it felt like thick wire. He continued to move around, feeling behind him until he'd made it the full way around his enclosure. He was in a cage, like the kind you put dogs in!

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JJ was ordering Chinese food for dinner while the team went over everything again. "Make sure they send forks," Reid said as his own cell phone rang. He looked at the call display, "Yeah Garcia."

"Okay sweetcheeks, I found your van and it took some doing. The van is not in either Mr. or Mrs. Dressler's names, that's why I didn't find it before. It was purchased by Mr. Dressler's company, Bayview Financial to chauffer the chairman, no pun intended, around.

"That's great Garcia, thanks."

"I'm still working on that other problem, later, sweet thing."

"Bye Garcia." Reid closed his phone replacing it in his pocket and turned to the group, "The van was purchased by Bayview Financial, Mackenzie Dressler's company."

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Fletcher could hear something but he wasn't sure what it was or where it was coming from. He sat still and listened more closely. It sounded like moaning. "Hello," he said, "Is somebody there?" No response came but the moaning continued. "Hey," he yelled more loudly this time, "Is anybody there?" The moan became much louder now, it sounded like a lady. "Lady," the boy yelled again, "Are you okay?"

A weak voice said something that sounded like, "No."

Something must be really wrong with the lady, he thought. Then he remembered the news and what it said was done to the prostitutes before they died. This lady must be one of them and the other lady had hurt her. She must be really scared too. "Lady," he said, "My name's Fletcher. They know I'm missing and they're going to be looking for me so maybe they'll find us soon." He hoped the 911 operator had called Agent Reid. Agent Reid had said he believed him; he would be looking for him, wouldn't he? It didn't stop him from being scared too, just like the lady.

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"Okay, say she's got Fletcher and Nikki Duval, where would she be keeping them," JJ asked as she used her chopsticks to put some chicken fried rice on her plate.

"Maybe Garcia can access her credit card to see if she rented an apartment or something," Emily suggested as she popped a sweet and sour shrimp into her mouth.

"Pass the Moo Goo please Reid," Rossi said as the young profiler handed him the cardboard container. "No, it wouldn't be an apartment, too much of a chance of someone seeing or hearing something."

"You don't think she's got them on the estate, do you," Morgan questioned as he sampled the ginger beef. "Should we try to get a search warrant?"

Hotch swallowed a mouthful of mushroom chow mein and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I don't think that would be very easy considering all the evidence we've got is circumstantial. We might have a hard time convincing a judge to issue it, especially with Muriel Dressler being who she is."

"It's not likely that she's got them at the estate. Look at what she does to those women. There's pure hatred there. Like you guys said, she's very aware of her position and she wouldn't do this where she lives," Reid stated before biting into an egg roll. He pulled out his cell and punched the speed dial. "Hi, Garcia…"

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He heard the lady moaning and whimpering from time to time but she wouldn't communicate with him. He wondered where he was as his tongue felt in his mouth to the place his first molar had once been. It had fallen out when the man had hit him. The man had driven quite a long way and there had been quite a lot of traffic for a while. Then all of a sudden it was quieter and he'd parked the car and gotten out. He got in another car, Fletcher thought, because he heard the door slam and the motor start. Then he didn't hear anything but a car passing once in a while further up the road. He must be somewhere in the country he figured. Agent Reid would never look for him out here, would he. He heard a door open; somebody was coming.

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"Alright, that was a good meal, now," JJ said, "Fortune cookies," she handed each team member a fortune cookie. They all looked at her, not really in the mood for fortune cookies. "It's not keeping us from anything: we have no leads, come on you guys open it." JJ opened hers, "Concern yourself about others more than yourself."

"That sounds like you JJ," Emily said as she read hers, "Mountains can move but not your character."

"Fitting Prentiss," Hotch said, opening his, "Behind an able man, there are always able men." He looked at his team, "And women," he added.

"Well Dave," JJ said. Rossi opened the cookie, "One must be available, alert, active and adaptable."

"It's you Dave," Morgan chuckled, as he opened his cookie, which made him start to laugh.

"What is it Morgan," Emily asked but Morgan continued to laugh. She grabbed the scrap of paper from his hand and read, "The best lovers make love on a full stomach," causing the whole team to burst into a much needed laugh.

"Your turn Reid," Morgan pointed to his teammate's cookie.

"Did you know," Reid said, "That the history of the fortune cookie dates back to the 13th and 14th century when China was occupied by the Mongols? Lotus nut paste moon cakes were used to hide secret mes…"

"Reid, could we do the history lesson another time and just read the cookie," Morgan asked his friend.

Reid opened the cookie and removed the scrap of paper, "There is no mistake greater than that of always being right." His teammates rolled their eyes.

Reid's cell rang, "Reid."

"Agent Reid, this is Officer Herrera. I think Theresa has identified the man who took Fletcher."


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I still (sniff) own nothing

A/N: Thanks to all who review and brighten my day

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Someone was coming down the stairs, he could hear the footsteps but they didn't seem to be coming towards him; they sounded like they were going the other way.

"Well, are you ready for the next round," Muriel stared at the naked woman, the hatred burning in her green eyes. Nikki Duval said nothing. She now had deep slashes across both breasts. The blood had run down her chest and congealed in tiny pools on the plastic sheeting that covered the slate flooring, easily disposed of, just like the women whose blood it trapped. Nikki had also lost control of her bladder and another puddle lay below her swinging feet. Muriel had donned latex gloves and grabbed some paper towels to wipe up the mess. "Stinking little whore," she said as Nikki, with what little strength she had, kicked Muriel Dressler in the head.

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"Theresa identified the man who took Fletcher," Reid confirmed. The rest of the team gave their full attention to Reid's side of the conversation.

"Yes sir," Felicia Herrera replied.

"Alright, what's his name?"

"His name is Michael Donovan, he's a sergeant in the North Beach precinct," the young officer replied.

"Thanks officer Herrera, we'll be in touch. Stay with Theresa, she needs to be kept safe." Reid ended the call and hit speed dial. "Michael Donovan, sergeant, North Beach," he said to the others.

"Hi Garcia, please find me anything you can on Michael Donovan, SFPD officer." Reid could hear the tech tapping on her computer keys.

Seconds passed, "Okay, Michael Donovan, forty eight years, been on the force for twenty-five years. A few police brutality claims. Nothing sticks out about his service records. One sexual harassment beef from a young female officer, Gina Forster. Received a letter of reprimand. He's single, never married. Lives at apartment 12-2420 Baxter Street.

"Got it, thanks Garcia." He closed his cell, "2420 Baxter Street," he said to the others and everyone dashed for the vehicles.

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"You little bitch," Fletcher heard the lady say. There was a noise that sounded like when the butcher knife got pulled through the sharpener. Oh no, he thought, those prostitutes were all cut up. Was she going to cut that other lady? Should he say something, he wondered? Then she might come after him with the knife. What should he do? He was really scared; he hoped Agent Reid would be able to find him.

Nikki screamed as Muriel slashed the knife across her left breast again crossing over the first cut and making an X. "There how do you like that you filthy little tramp."

Fletcher slid himself back to the farthest corner of his cage, hoping to become invisible. Muriel threw the knife on the work bench and walked over to the dog kennel, shaking the metal structure. "I'll be back soon and you're next." She turned and headed up the stairs.

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The team sped through the San Francisco streets with lights and sirens until they neared Baxter Street where they killed the sirens. The six agents donned their vests and headed in search of their quarry. Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss and Reid dashed into the building while Rossi, JJ and two SFPD officers covered the back fire escape. Apartment 12 was on the third floor, "You could get your exercise living here," Prentiss said as the foursome mounted the three flights of stairs. Morgan and Hotch took positions on both sides of the door with Reid behind Hotch and Prentiss behind Morgan. Hotch knocked on the door.

The door was opened by a middle aged man with a round face and a thinning thatch of hair that had once been red but now grey was the more predominant color. He had a ruddy complexion and his nose was bright red which led Hotch to the conclusion that Michael Donovan was likely a heavy drinker. Hotch identified the group as FBI and they flashed their badges. Mickey Donovan looked shocked, how had they found him. "What can I do for you, Agent Hotchner," Mickey asked suspiciously?

"We have some questions regarding the abduction of an eight year old boy from Windhaven Drive this morning." Mickey stared back at the agents; Hotchner's intense dark eyes flashed with anger and seemed to bore right through him. The muscular black guy looked like he would like nothing more than to tear him limb from limb. Behind him a dark haired woman, quite a babe flashed through his mind momentarily, was giving him a look that was anything but welcoming. Behind Hotchner was a tall kid with longish brown hair and expressive brown eyes behind ugly glasses and at this moment that expression was a blazing fury.

"Hey guys, I don't know anything about any kid, you and I are on the same side here," Mickey stated in his friendliest voice.

"Then you won't mind if we come in and see for ourselves," Morgan said stepping forward into Mickey's personal space.

"S..sure, c'mon in, you can see there's no kid here." The team entered the small apartment, "Excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting company ya know."

The living room consisted of a faded plaid couch, the upholstery of one arm torn, a coffee table and a ratty armchair. The most expensive thing in the room was the television set. On the coffee table sat an empty glass, a half full bottle of Jack Daniels and an ashtray overflowing with filtered cigarette butts. The team moved from room to room. Emily entered the bedroom to find an unmade double bed and a dresser. There were blinds on the window but no curtains. Dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor. Charming, Emily thought as she opened the closet to ensure that Fletcher was not there. Reid entered the bathroom. The sink and toilet looked like they had never been cleaned and there was a ring around the bathtub. I guess that means he does bathe, Reid thought. Morgan entered the kitchen that had the usual fridge, stove and cupboards and a small table with two chairs against one wall. Morgan doubted that anyone ever used the second chair. The sink was full of dirty dishes. There was a pizza box on the counter with two pieces left. No sign, however of Fletcher. The three agents returned to the living room where Hotch was keeping an eye on Mickey. They each shook their heads.

"What happened to your neck," Reid asked noting a long scratch from behind his left ear to his Adam's apple.

"Oh, I just scratched myself," Mickey replied.

Reid looked at Mickey's stubby nicotine stained fingers that ended in dirty nails that had been bitten almost to the quick. "Then you won't mind giving us a DNA sample."

"A DNA sample, what for?" Mickey looked shocked that they would ask.

"What do we usually want DNA for Sergeant Donovan," Emily asked?

"Look, I don't know anything about this kid and I don't know why you think I do," he retorted defensively.

"You were identified at the scene of the boy's abduction," Hotch reiterated.

"Well I wasn't there no matter what sh..someone said," Mickey stressed.

"You were going to say she, weren't you," Reid asked? "What makes you think our witness is a woman? Maybe it was a man who saw your car when you grabbed the boy."

"It couldn't have been because my car was never there," Mickey smirked confidently.

Reid suddenly left the room as the others continued to question Michael Donovan. In the hallway he punched speed dial. He prayed he was right about this.

"Penelope Garcia, speak oh seeker of the truth."

"Hi Garcia, I need you to check something out for me."

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Okay, she was going to come back for him and since there was no one here to help him, it was up to him, Fletcher decided. He didn't really know how to get himself out of there but he had to think of something and to do that he needed to see, so first, he told himself, he had to get his blindfold off. He moved himself around so he was facing the wire mesh of his enclosure. He put his face close to the mesh and attempted to work the cover down from his eyes but his nose kept getting caught in the wire and the blindfold went nowhere. Alright genius, that's not working, try something else. He sat with his left side against the mesh and rubbed his head along it. He felt the material move up a little bit but not enough for him to see anything but a sliver of light. It was a beginning he told himself. He turned awkwardly the other way and tried from the right side and achieved a little more movement. He continued switching sides, moving the material a little at a time. He had no concept of how long it took but finally the blindfold slid up to his forehead and he could see. He had to wait a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He looked through the wire mesh of his prison. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped. "Oh my God."


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: How haven't I said this….

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, here we go……

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Reid got off the phone with Garcia as they were bringing Mickey Donovan out in handcuffs. He recalled Fletcher's 911 call, saying he was in handcuffs and approached Mickey saying, "How does it feel?"

"You guys got it all wrong," Mickey protested innocently.

"Once the DNA tests are done, we'll see about that," Morgan said as he led Mickey down the three flights of stairs and out to the cruiser where two SFPD officers took custody of him.

"You didn't get anything out of him," Reid asked Hotch as they were joined by Rossi and JJ.

Hotch shook his head, "He's still denying everything."

"Why is he doing that," JJ asked? "Surely he knows once the DNA tests are done it'll prove he's guilty."

"Dressler must have some hold on him for him not to give her up," Rossi suggested.

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He looked out and surveyed the scene before him. There he saw a naked woman , her wrists in handcuffs, secured to a bolt attached to the ceiling beam. She hung mere inches from the floor. Her head hung down, her chin resting on her chest. Fletcher could see pieces of long brown hair on the plastic sheeting that covered the floor and small pools of blood. There was a fireplace in the corner and to the left of that, a long workbench. A ladder leaned against the wall beside the workbench. His eyes continued to circle the room and saw stairs that led to the upper floors and to the right of the stairs was the cage that held him.

He looked again at the woman. He wondered for a moment if she was still alive but then he saw her chest move. He needed to get out of this cage he told himself. He couldn't do anything for that lady or himself if he was locked up in here so he attempted to block out what he had seen while he concentrated on the task at hand.

Fletcher examined the cage thoroughly. There was no way to get the door open. It had a padlock on it and he had no use of his hands. He knelt down on the floor of the cage and looked closely at the connections. There were no clamps; they just appeared to snap together. He backed up to the side and sat, attempting to pull them apart with his hands but was unable to get the pieces apart. He sat back, sitting on his hands, the cuffs dug into his butt. He wiggled his bottom back until his hands were under his knees. He lay on the floor of his prison, bringing his knees up to his chest and sliding his hands under his feet so they were now in front of him. "Alright," he said. "Now to get out of this cage."

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"Hey sweet boy, I've got the information you wanted," the computer tech said as Reid answered his cell phone.

"Okay Garcia," Reid replied.

"Muriel Dressler did rent a car from Bayside Rentals," Garcia informed him.

"That's great Garcia, I'll check with them. Thanks, I'll talk to you later." He was about to end the call when Garcia spoke again.

"Hang on there junior G man, I'm not done yet. You were asking about Muriel Dressler's husband. I didn't get into his medical records. I did look into their financials and I was able to get into his pharmaceuticals. He was on a whole slew of medications, okay let me see, Doxil, Roferon A, Retrovir, Viramune, Inverase and Fuzean."

Reid's eyes grew big and his jaw dropped. "Garcia, are you sure?"

"Yes, Reid, why?"

"Because those are…Mackenzie Dressler must have…Oh my God."

"Well, I've got another piece of information; those drugs are still being delivered to the Dressler home."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

He had tried again to get the connection between the walls of his prison and the floor apart now that his hands were in front of him but it still wasn't working. _Okay genius, think of something else. _He sat in the middle of his enclosure and looked around. He nodded his head. He thought he had the answer.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Say that again Garcia," Reid said excitedly.

Those drugs, at least most of them are still being delivered to the Dressler home," Garcia repeated.

"Thanks Garcia, you're the greatest!"

"Of course, sweet thing, that's how I rule."

Reid turned to the others, "I think I know what this is about."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

He lay down on the floor of the cage and attempted to stretch out but the area was not quite long enough. He got up and tried to stand but had to bend at the shoulders. Okay good, he thought, I'm 50" so this must be about 48" and probably 36" high. It's not overly strong; he contemplated, shaking the structure. So if I climb to the top of this end and apply all my weight here, he pointed to the side to the left of him, that end should tip up, he pointed to the side to the right of himself. It's just a variation of the basic lever. Apply weight at one end to lift something at the other end. It should work, in theory anyway. I guess it's time to find out.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"What do you mean, you think you know what this is about," JJ asked?

"That was Garcia. She just gave me the list of drugs Mackenzie Dressler was on," Reid replied.

"Where did she find that," Hotch asked in a tone that said he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Sometimes Garcia scared him with the information she could find.

"Are you kidding," Reid said, "I know better than to ask."

"That's probably wise," Rossi commented.

"Anyway, Mackenzie Dressler was on everything from Doxil to Roferon A to Fuzean," Reid exclaimed like he had explained nuclear fission in terms a moron could understand.

Five people stared at him blankly. "Doc, once more for those of us without a medical degree," Morgan suggested.

"Oh sorry, Doxil is used to treat Kaposi's sarcoma," Reid began.

"Yeah, well we know he had cancer," Emily said not understanding Reid's point.

"Retrovir is a nucleoside, Viramune is a nonnucleoside inhibitor, Invarase is a protease inhibitor and Fuzeon is a fusion inhibitor." He looked at the team like that should answer all their questions.

"And…" Hotch was getting impatient and wished the young profiler would get to the point.

"Well technically with Kaposi's sarcoma, you could say Mackenzie Dressler had cancer but more importantly, he had AIDS."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Usual applies.

A/N: Great to hear from all my wonderful reviewers. You continue to make my day.

--

Fletcher wedged his foot tightly between the wires of his prison and used his hands to pull himself to the highest point on the left side of the cage, trying to concentrate his sixty-one pounds into one spot. Nothing happened. He adjusted himself into what he considered a better position, leaned back a bit and rocked his weight forward. He felt the other side of the cage raise a little then fall back. Almost, he said to himself. He put his hands on the top mesh and pulled his legs up one more rung then pulled his hands back so his body was in a tight little ball. He leaned his weight back as far as he could before throwing it forward. He felt himself moving and he saw the slate floor coming up to meet him.

--

The team stood looking at Mickey Donovan from the observation room. The CSI techs had just left after taking the court ordered cheek swab for DNA testing. "Why don't you and Morgan take him Dave," Hotch suggested.

Morgan turned and headed for the door when Rossi said, "No, not Morgan."

"What do you mean, not Morgan," Morgan said irritably. He was obviously itching to get up close and personal with the prisoner.

"Look," Rossi said, "Donovan's a cop, he knows the drill. No matter how much you huff and puff, he knows you're not going to beat him to a pulp in the interview room. He won't be afraid of you."

Morgan glared at Rossi displaying his displeasure over the older man's assessment of the situation. "So who, Prentiss?"

"No," Dave replied, "Donovan has no respect for women. He only sees them as sex objects. Prentiss will only distract him. I'll take Reid."

"Why Reid," Emily asked?

"Because he looks so harmless," Rossi responded. "People tend to dismiss him not realizing the things he can pick up about a person by watching them. Trust me, Donovan will be concentrating on me and will be totally unconcerned with Reid and that'll be his downfall."

--

The bang as he hit the floor stunned him momentarily. He raised his head. The cage was now on its side, the previous floor was now the right hand wall. He could now stand to almost his full height. He looked at the woman hanging from the ceiling. It didn't look like she had moved or noticed the noise as he tipped the cage over. That couldn't be good he thought. He set to examining the cage again for any loosening of the connections from the impact of tipping the cage on its side. No such luck he thought as he observed all the connections were intact. Well, he'd just have to do something about that.

--

"Mickey, you don't mind if I call you Mickey do you," Rossi asked as he and Reid sat down across from Donovan. "I'm SSA Rossi and this is SSA Reid."

"Look, I don't care what you call me, I didn't have anything to do with any kid," Mickey replied as he observed the two agents that had been sent in to interrogate him.

The older man was obviously in charge. He was self assured and confident, Mickey thought as he took in the older man with touches of gray in his dark hair, mustache and goatee. His brown eyes were direct. He obviously went for a more casual look than Agent Hochner, he thought, looking at Rossi's jeans, shirt, tie and jacket.

He turned his attention to the younger one. Agent Reid, that was who the kid had wanted to call and who he'd called for when he called 911. Well, he could understand it; they looked about the same age. How could this skinny kid be an FBI agent, he looked too young, his hair was too long, Mickey thought as he surveyed Spencer's chin length brown locks that fell in waves from a left sided part. Those nerdy glasses, and a sweater vest, who wears those anymore. He looks like he's scared stiff. Mickey almost laughed. They'd clearly sent the kid in here so that he'd feel threatened by two big bad FBI agents. He turned his attention to Rossi.

"Let's begin shall we, where were you this morning at 10:42 am?"

--

Fletcher stood trying to pull the connections apart but they weren't budging. _Okay, time to try something else. _He lay down on the left side of the cage that was now the floor. It was a lot less comfortable lying on the wire than on the plastic flooring. The gluteus maximus muscles were one of the strongest in the body, although some argued the tongue. Since his tongue wouldn't help him out much in his present situation, he hoped the glutes proponents were right. He bent his legs and kicked out with all his strength hoping some of the adrenaline the FBI agents were so worried about was coursing through him now.

--

"I keep telling you, I had nothing to do with this kid. You're just trying to trick me into saying something. I know how this works," Mickey yelled at Rossi after Dave asked him the same question for the fourth time. "You can't try and convince me that someone saw me in my car because my car was nowhere near there," he said smugly.

"Well, that's the first truthful thing you've said since you sat down here," Reid said.

"What do you mean by that," Mickey asked suspiciously. It was the first time the kid had opened his mouth. Mickey was sure Rossi was supposed to lead; what was this kid talking about?

"You said your car was nowhere near there," Reid said getting up from the chair and walking around the room. "You're right; you weren't driving your car. You were driving a titanium grey Toyota Camry rented from Bayside Car Rentals this morning by Muriel Dressler," Reid told the surprised officer.

"You have no proof of that," Mickey countered, "You're bluffing." He'd not expected this from the kid. He looked at Rossi who just grinned.

"Oh, I think we will have proof. CSI got to the car before it was cleaned. All we need is one fingerprint, one graying red hair, one cigarette butt. What about the trunk, one blond hair, one fingerprint, one drop of blood belonging to Fletcher Bancroft. What do you think we'll find?"

"I…I want a lawyer," Mickey said.

"While you're waiting for your lawyer think about this, whatever hold Muriel Dressler's got over you, is it worth taking the rap for kidnapping, obstruction of justice and if anything happens to Fletcher Bancroft or Nikki Duval, possibly accessory to murder or at least attempted murder." Rossi opened the door and exited with Reid following.

--

Fletcher drove his legs hard against the floor of the cage, grunting with the exertion like a grand slam tennis player. "They're…" kick, grunt, "Not…" kick, grunt, "Getting…" kick, grunt, "The …" kick, grunt, "Best…" kick, grunt, "Of…" kick, grunt, "Fletcher…" kick, grunt, "Bancroft…" He heard a snap. He looked down at the bottom right hand corner, the connection had come apart. "It's a start," he said as he lay down again and started on the left hand side.

--

Muriel Dressler headed up I 580 back to the Napa Valley. She'd returned the rental car and now it was time to take care of that nosy kid once and for all.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: As always

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers for their continued interest

--

Don Freeman, a six foot athletically built man with curly brown hair cropped close to his head and intense blue eyes, came out of the interview room after consultation with Mickey Donovan. "I need to see the DA," he said in a clipped tone.

"What!" Morgan said. "We don't have time for this, a woman and child's lives could be at stake. We need to know where that child is."

"You'll get my client's cooperation once I get some assurances from the DA and not before," Freeman fired back.

Hotch left to summon the DA when Reid's cell rang, "Reid," he answered.

"Okay, sweet boy, I've been looking into Mackenzie and Muriel Dressler and they have a country home in Napa Valley," she went on to give him directions.

"Thanks Garcia," Reid replied and quickly dashed for the interview room.

"Hey, you can't go in there and talk to my client," Freeman yelled as Reid slammed the door to the interview room open so hard it hit the wall.

"Mickey don't say anything," Freeman warned as Reid entered the room.

"He doesn't have to say anything; I'm not asking him any questions. I was just going to tell him we don't need his cooperation because we know about the house in Napa." Reid looked closely at Mickey Donovan's reaction. Letting out a heavy sigh, Donovan closed his eyes and hung his head. "But thanks for the confirmation," Reid added as he turned and left the room almost bumping into Hotch and the ADA Jack Melvin, "We don't need his cooperation," Reid said to the man. "Don't make any deals." He directed his next words to the team, "We need to get to Napa," as they all ran towards the precinct exit.

--

Fletcher had been kicking for a while when he heard another snap and looked down to find the bottom connection at the left had come loose as well. He stood up again, pushing all his weight against the floor hoping the top connections would pop now that the bottom two had. There didn't appear to be any movement. He bent down to the bottom section and pushed it out. There wasn't a lot of space but if he flattened himself he thought he might be able to squeeze himself through. He felt he had to try. He sat down and lay on his side. He had to tuck his knees up to lie in the small space that was now the floor. He put his cuffed hands over his head pushing his back against the former plastic floor and stuck his hands through the opening, continuing to push his weight against the plastic to make the opening as wide as possible. One of his hands got scratched by a barbed wire. It was a tight squeeze with his head, and it too was lacerated by the sharp wire, but once his head was out, he slithered out the rest of the way with relative ease. As his feet came in contact with the slate tiled floor, he lay stunned for a few moments. He was free!

--

Muriel Dressler stopped the blue van on the small deserted country back road and retrieved the bicycle she had used to get here to pick up the kid. It's a good thing I'm still in good shape she thought as she hefted the bike into the back of the van. She'd get back to the house and take care of that irritating child once and for all. She always knew there was a reason she hated kids. Then she'd be home free. They had absolutely nothing on her and Everett would keep those FBI goons away from her. She started the van and headed through the scenic Napa countryside.

Her eyes roamed around the beauty of her surroundings. The vines, swaying ever so gently in the cool evening breeze, heavily laden with their succulent offerings that would soon be harvested and pressed into must, that once fermented, would become the rich, full bodied Cabernet Sauvignon, the crisply fruity full bodied Chardonnay, the delicate light bodied Pinot Noir, the fruity Merlot and of course, the most abundant, spicy, yet robust Zinfandel. She smiled; she and Mac had a vast eclectic collection of wines, most from right here in California but many from France, Italy, Spain, Germany and even Australia. They had loved sitting outside with a glass in the evenings and watching the sun set over the rolling hills or the foggy mist over the vineyards in the mornings.

She had loved Mac with a love that was so deep sometimes it scared her. Everyone thought that because he was fifteen years older than she and rich, that she had married him for his money. Who could blame them? Of course she enjoyed the privileges his wealth provided, who wouldn't, but she would have married him had he been poor. She loved to look at his face, the most handsome she'd ever seen, oh not by fashion model standards of course, but his mouth rounded in the most delightful way when he smiled, and he smiled often. His eyes had this sparkling twinkle and were surrounded by the familiar creases of one whose smile was frequent and genuine. His laugh was hearty and never put on. They had laughed much in their years together. They had boated and skied. They had traveled far and wide. She had seen the world by his side with his hand in hers. They had no children; there had never been a need. Their lives were full with their professions and each other.

Until those prostitutes had stolen him away from her too soon. It wasn't that their sex life wasn't good, it was. There wasn't anything she wouldn't try and he strove to give her as much pleasure as she gave him. Somehow, though, every once in a while, he needed the prostitutes. He would get his fix, so to speak, and he'd be fine. Until the next time. Now he was gone and those filthy whores were going to pay. The world was dark and ugly now, even though it was, in essence, no different than before, but when Mac had been with her, there always seemed to be hope.

Why couldn't it have been Mickey who was struck down? Mickey Donovan was a pig. He wanted women and he thought they were his for the taking. He had been good looking when he was young and they rode in a cruiser together in Mission. He'd had wavy red hair and some of that Irish charm handed down from his ancestors. He'd also kissed the blarney stone she thought. He would frighten poor illegals saying he wouldn't report them if they'd give him sex. She didn't know how many times she'd stood outside the cruiser drinking coffee while some poor wetback gave Mickey a quick screw or a blowjob in the back seat because he'd threaten to have her sent back across the border faster than she could say Guadalajara! She hadn't said anything at the time but she'd kept names, dates and times. She'd known it would come in handy someday.

She had her mission now and there wasn't that much time left. The medications weren't working and her viral load was increasing every time she was tested. She didn't really mind so much now. She would make as many whores as possible pay until she no longer had the strength and then it would be over, death would be welcome and she would soon be with her precious Mac once again. But first she had to deal with that kid.

--

The team sped down I 580 with lights and sirens until it met Route 80. Hotch, Rossi and JJ were in one SUV while Morgan, Emily and Reid rode in the other. They turned onto Route 80 following Garcia's directions and at last entered the wine country. As every mile clicked by they prayed they'd be in time to help Nikki and Fletcher.

--

Fletcher jumped up, or tried to and almost fell as his muscles that had been confined in the small space protested when he stood to his full height. Once he walked off the kinks briefly he ran for the stairs. On the third stair he stopped. What if she was up there? He couldn't just walk up there unarmed. He turned back and ran over to the workbench with its vast collection of knives. He picked one up and dropped it quickly as he noticed the dried blood that adhered to it. Then he spied what he needed and picked it up. He turned from the workbench and was confronted with Nikki who continued to hang from the beam. His eyes widened. He had not seen the front of her from the cage and for the first time he saw the injuries that had been inflicted upon her. He stepped closer, "Lady," he said tentatively. "Lady, can you hear me," he asked a bit louder. There was no response.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds

A/N: Thanks again to all my loyal reviewers.

--

Fletcher looked at the woman closely; she was so white, her body seemed drained of all color. Her toes and lips had a bluish purple tinge. He reached out to touch her but pulled his hand back before it reached her body. _Stop it Fletcher, you have to find out if she's alive._ He walked over to the ladder next to the workbench and dragged it over the spot beside the woman. He opened it awkwardly with his cuffed hands and scampered up to the top rung. He knew he should feel for the pulse in her neck but it was made difficult by his handcuffs and her arm in the way. Eventually his trembling fingers reached the spot and he felt for the pulse. He felt something that seemed very fast and he prayed it wasn't just his own fingers shaking. Her skin was cold and damp. He could see from here that she was breathing although her chest moved very little.

The boy went over what he'd observed and what he'd read and concluded the lady was in shock. The books said he should cover her but there was nothing to cover her with. "Lady, I know you need help really bad and I'm going to try and get us help. The police won't believe me and the FBI don't believe me either except for Agent Reid. I'm going to call Agent Reid, he'll help us. Please lady, hang on okay." The boy winced at his own choice of words.

--

The SUVs ate up the miles driving well over the speed limit. Vehicles barely had time to pull over before the agents whizzed by them. They had close calls when dodging a couple of tour buses unable to get out of the way fast enough. Two vehicles flew over the California blacktop while six agents prayed.

--

Fletcher stuck his head out of the basement. He saw no sign of the woman who was holding him captive. The house was silent. He tiptoed into the medieval castle like kitchen. A large island was the centerpiece of the room consisting of coffee colored oak cabinets with a sandy tinted granite countertop. It also contained a large black sink and a wine refrigerator. The cook top was housed in a floor to ceiling stone arch featuring a limestone backsplash with brass inlay in a diamond pattern. The appliances on the opposing wall were stainless steel. He spotted the cordless phone on the counter top. He ran over and grabbed it, quickly dialing Agent Reid's cell phone number when a cold voice said "What the hell do you think you're doing? How did you get up here?" Muriel ran to grab the phone from his grasp but the boy fought her. She slapped him across the face and Fletcher dropped the phone which sailed across the terra cotta floor tiles and landed under the kitchen table as the boy kicked Muriel in the shin.

--

The BAU team continued through the wine country, their blue and red flashing lights a beacon in the darkening night. Reid's cell phone rang and he answered thinking it was one of his teammates in the lead SUV. "Reid."

No one spoke. He could hear sounds of scuffling and a woman screamed, "You little bastard, I'll take so much pleasure in killing you." Reid's eyes widened.

A child's voice replied, "You'll have to catch me first," and Reid heard more footsteps and scuffling. Oh my God, Fletcher had managed to call him and he was fighting Muriel Dressler. They had to get there before she hurt him or worse.

Emily looked back, seeing the expression on Reid's face and that he appeared to be listening so intently. "What is it Reid," she asked, her instincts telling her that something important was being said over the telephone. Reid quickly explained and Emily was on the phone instantly, calling Rossi and whispering what she knew while Reid listened to the events unfolding in the Dressler home.

--

Fletcher tried to make his way to the back door but it was locked and by the time he reached his cuffed hands up and turned the deadbolt, Muriel was on him from behind. She tried to lift him but the child squirmed making it impossible although his arms were pinned to his side. He tried to kick her but it was difficult with the woman behind him. Then, in the stillness of the night, with only their ragged breathing breaking the silence, he heard it. It sounded like sirens. They were coming. Help was coming at last!

Hotch and Morgan silenced the sirens as they neared the Dressler home. They parked and got out of the vehicles in front of the white house with four front columns in the Greek style. A porch spanned the entire residence and there was a second story balcony. The team donned their vests. Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss went to the front while Rossi, Reid and JJ went to the back although Reid seemed reluctant to put down the cell phone, his only connection to Fletcher.

Hotch banged on the door announcing they were FBI agents. Muriel tightened her arm around the boy as Rossi banged on the back door identifying them as FBI as well. Muriel held on tightly to the child as she backed up, opening a drawer and extracting a large butcher knife. The knob of the back door turned slowly and the door was pushed open quickly, revealing Rossi, his gun leveled at Muriel Dressler. He entered the room followed quickly by Reid and JJ.

The sound of shattering glass was heard as the dead bolted door would not give. Prentiss had broken a window and climbed in, opening the door for the others. They made their way to the kitchen to find Muriel Dressler standing against the kitchen cupboard with her arm tightly around Fletcher. The boy's hands were in cuffs and his eyes were as big as saucers. He had a bruise on his left cheek, a long cut on his forehead and another on the top of his left hand. Muriel held a very large, very sharp butcher knife pointed at the child.

"Mrs. Dressler, please put down the knife, there's nowhere for you to go. You don't want to hurt the boy." Muriel's grip tightened on Fletcher. Fletcher looked out at the barrels of six guns pointed at him and the lady. Reid could see the fear in his eyes and the frenzy in Muriel's.

"Put the knife down Deputy Commissioner," Hotch tried to persuade the woman. "As an officer of the law, you know how this works."

"I don't care anymore. If you want to shoot me, shoot me." The knife moved closer to Fletcher's throat and the boy tried to move his head further away. "I don't know how well that'll work for your little friend here," she said.

The agents all aimed their guns until Reid said quietly, "We can't shoot her guys."

"What are you talking about Reid," Hotch said suspiciously?

"She's got AIDS Hotch, we shoot her and we have no idea where her blood goes. Look at Fletcher; he's got two open cuts." All eyes shifted to the boy's wounds.

"Well," Muriel smirked, "It looks like you've got a decision to make."


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: The usual

A/N: Once again thanks to all who continue to support the story.

--

"She's got AIDS Hotch, we shoot and we have no idea where her blood goes. Look at Fletcher; he's got two open cuts." All eyes shifted to the boy's wounds.

"Well," Muriel smirked. "It looks like you've got a decision to make."

Fletcher looked at the agents; he could see the tension in their faces. Would they shoot at the lady anyway, hoping her blood didn't get on him? He was more scared than he'd ever been. He looked to Agent Reid.

"Mrs. Dressler," Reid said, "You really don't need to hurt the boy. We're here now. You're not going to get away. Hurting the boy now serves no purpose."

"It's his fault you're here. If it wasn't for him you elite FBI profilers wouldn't have a clue. You needed a little kid to tell you where to look," Muriel shot back. "He got in the way of my mission; he should pay just like the whores." She tightened the grip around his neck.

"No," came six voices at once.

"Mrs. Dressler, you just lost your husband. Is this how you want to remember your marriage? Is this what your husband would want?" Reid asked the desperate woman.

"Mac was a good man," Muriel replied. "He'd never hurt anyone."

Reid nodded, "I'm sure he wouldn't."

"He just had needs you know," she said tearfully. "It was those filthy whores that ruined everything." Her voice got hard and her hand tightened around the knife. Fletcher's hand slid under his tee shirt to the waistband of his jeans.

"I understand that you want to get back at someone but Fletcher's just a little boy. He's only eight years old. He's totally innocent. You remember when you swore your oath as a police officer. You swore to protect and serve. Fletcher is one of the ones you swore to protect." Reid took a small step toward the woman and child.

"Uh uh," Muriel said, moving the knife ever so slightly closer to Fletcher, "Don't come any closer."

"Okay," Reid said as he stepped back. He looked at Fletcher with what he hoped was reassurance. The child's eyes hadn't left him since he'd started talking. He could see the fear in the boy's eyes but something else, determination.

Fletcher eyes went down to his hands, so briefly, Reid wondered if he'd imagined it. He nodded imperceptibly at the boy and glanced briefly at the boy's hands. Reid could see that Fletcher held something in his hand but was unable to tell what it was and he quickly looked back at Muriel.

"Mrs. Dressler, you hurt the boy and we'll take you down hard. You don't hurt the boy and we'll still take you down. You gain nothing by hurting the child," Reid reiterated. Fletcher glanced down at his hands again and Reid, once again, gave the briefest nod. Fletcher raised his one hand slightly so Reid could see what he held. Reid looked at the boy's hand trying not to show any emotion at seeing Fletcher's find.

The others had seen it as well; now all they needed was a plan. Reid continued to talk to Muriel Dressler. "It must have been hard for you to live with the fact that your husband had AIDS but not let it become public knowledge." He looked at Fletcher as he spoke. "It must have been quite a burden to shoulder, right?" This time Fletcher nodded at Reid. "Then you found out you were infected as well and you had to make the time you had remaining count," he looked pointedly at Fletcher. Another brief nod from the boy. "So you decided to get rid of women like the one that infected your husband. But you didn't stop at one did you, or two, or even three…"

As Reid said three, Fletcher raised his hands over his right shoulder and planted the stun gun on Muriel's right upper arm. Her grip loosened instantaneously and the boy dove for the floor while Reid dove for the knife as Muriel fell.

Hotch, Rossi and Morgan moved in to take control of Muriel who was unable to offer any resistance. "Nice job Fletcher," Morgan said to the boy.

JJ and Emily helped Fletcher to his feet. Emily unlocked the cuffs and the boy threw his arms around Reid who was still on his knees on the floor. "I knew you'd come," he said as Reid engulfed the boy in his arms. Fletcher lifted his head off Reid's shoulder, "There's a lady downstairs, she's badly hurt and needs help right away." JJ called an ambulance and watched Muriel while the team rushed downstairs to help Nikki Duval.

When they arrived in the basement, they looked in shock and awe at Nikki Duval. Emily still had her keys out and climbed the ladder Fletcher had left there and undid the cuffs. Morgan and Hotch eased the woman to the floor. "Prentiss, we need blankets," Hotch said and Emily ran for the stairs.

"Is she going to be okay," Fletcher asked, still in Reid's arms, reluctant to let go.

"Pulse is weak and thready and her respirations are pretty shallow." Morgan supplied. "Nikki, Nikki, can you hear us," Morgan asked?

"I tried talking to her but she didn't answer," Fletcher told them. "Well, she did at first but I couldn't really understand her and I was busy trying to get out of that," he pointed to the cage.

Emily returned loaded down with blankets and some bath sheets. They've got a towel warmer in the bathroom so I brought a couple of bath sheets. They heard sirens and JJ yelled down the stairs, "Ambulance is here."

The paramedics were soon working on Nikki, starting an IV, taking vital signs, applying a warming blanket, doing an EKG and dressing her wounds. They talked to each other and called out numbers as they worked together to care for the young woman. When they were done and putting her on a stretcher, one of the paramedics informed Hotch, "I think we got to her in the nick of time." They carried the stretcher up the stairs.

After they had gone, the team surveyed the basement. Morgan walked over to the upturned cage. "You were in here," he looked at Fletcher. "How did you get out?"

"I used my weight to tip the cage, using a variation of the simple lever, then I kicked until the connections came loose and squeezed myself out," the child explained. Morgan shook his head.

The boy whispered something to Reid. "Well let's take care of that right now," he said and started up the stairs with the boy.

"Where ya goin," Morgan asked.

"He has to go to the bathroom really bad," Reid whispered as the pair disappeared upstairs.

JJ came to inform them that the police had arrived to take Muriel Dressler into custody. "I better get ready for the press conference, something tells me it's going to be a doozy."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: For the last time, I do not own Criminal Minds.

A/N: Well guys, the last chapter, thanks again to all who reviewed and added the story to their alerts and favorites. The support is greatly appreciated.

--

The police were loading Muriel into a van for transport as the ambulance was leaving with Nikki Duval. The team was still inspecting the basement and noted the plastic sheeting on the floor effectively trapping Nikki's blood and hair; the workbench with its ample collection of knives, some caked with dried blood. They saw the fireplace where Muriel had burned the sheeting, clothes and other remnants of the women she killed. Under the stairs they discovered a scissor jack that Muriel must have used to hoist the women up so she could cuff them to the ceiling bolt. Lastly they looked at the cage that was used to hold Fletcher. Morgan put a gloved hand on the wire that was, he felt, relatively strong, but not strong enough to contain the will of a feisty young genius.

"I'm amazed he got out of here," Emily said, "And yet I'm not."

"I know what you mean," Dave replied as they mounted the stairs to give way to the CSI technicians. "The kid's pretty impressive."

Hotch picked up the stun gun that had been discarded on the kitchen floor. "You can say that again."

Reid and Fletcher entered the kitchen from the hallway. "How are you doing Fletcher," Emily asked?

"I'm okay Agent Prentiss," the boy said, but Reid felt, just a bit too brightly.

"Fletcher, we have to take you to the hospital," Reid told the child.

"No, I'm okay, I've only got a couple of scratches," the boy replied.

"I know that Fletcher, but you have to be checked over by a doctor. We also need to talk to a child psychologist. You saw some pretty nasty things and there could be some repercussions from that that we need to watch out for," Reid explained. The boy looked skeptical, "I'll be right there with you, okay." The child nodded begrudgingly.

The BAU members were silent on the ride back to San Francisco, listening to Fletcher's prattle. "Did you know that Napa means 'land of plenty' to the Wappo Indians and that Napa Valley contains a quarter of California's wineries? George C. Yount is credited with planting the first grapevine in Napa Valley." The boy continued to babble the rest of the way, Reid thought, to cover up his fear and anxiety. Sometimes intellect was a shield, but Spencer knew, only a temporary one, and eventually it would shatter and Fletcher would be left with the raw emotion, open and vulnerable. Fletcher, his doctors, his family, his teachers and his friends, had to be ready when that happened.

--

The rest of the team had headed back to the precinct to tie up loose ends, leaving Fletcher and Reid at San Francisco General. JJ assured Reid that she would call Wendy Dillard and inform her that they had rescued Nikki Duval. She also promised to call Fletcher's parents. Emily said she would speak to Theresa and let her know that Mickey Donovan was in custody and Fletcher was safe.

Fletcher saw Dr. Sellinger in the ER who pronounced, after checking the boy over and doing x-rays, that his only injuries were the cuts on his forehead and hand, the bruise on his face and the stun gun burn on his neck. Then Fletcher was seen by Dr. Sharon Wakefield, a kindly gray haired child psychologist, who was to assess the injuries that couldn't be seen with the naked eye, an x-ray or CAT scan. Reid went through explaining for the second time that evening, who he was, and why there was no legal guardian there for the child.

Reid left Fletcher with the doctor saying he'd be right outside the door. While he waited in the waiting area, he dialed the cell number Fletcher had given him for his mother. He could see JJ on the muted TV screen giving her press conference. The phone rang four times before it was answered by a sleepy "Hello."

"Ms. Fletcher," Reid confirmed the woman's identity before carrying on. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid," Reid said, thinking this woman was one who might respond to a full title.

"Yes," she replied, "What can I do for you?"

What can you do for me, Reid thought, what can you do for me? How about hop on a plane and forget your head hunting for a day and be here for your son. What he said was, "I'm here at the hospital with Fletcher and I thought you might like an update on his condition."

"Oh, of course," she responded in a clipped tone. "Though someone named, oh I can't think of her name right now, it started with a J. Anyway she told me Fletcher had been rescued and he was okay."

"He has only minor injuries; he's in with a child psychologist as we speak to try to stave off any psychological damage. I'm sure he'd appreciate his mother being here," Reid tried to impress upon the woman.

Anise Fletcher sighed heavily. "Look, Agent Reid, Fletcher is a very independent child; we brought him up to be that way, not a whiny baby. He'll get through this just fine."

"He's eight years old for Christ's sake." Reid angrily paced the waiting area. "He's seen things that most adults couldn't handle and you say he'll be fine," Reid shouted. "On second thought, don't hurry back, I don't think you'll be much use to him anyway," he said, punching the end button on his cell phone. He paced the corridor, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking for something to punch. He suddenly knew why Morgan sometimes felt the need. It must have shown because people passing were giving him strange looks. He had to get it together before he went back in the room with Fletcher. The boy was too bright not to realize something was wrong.

The door opened and Dr. Wakefield exited. Reid looked at her, anxiously awaiting her assessment. "Dr. Reid, the child seems to be handling the situation very well although he would not admit to me that he was afraid. He told me about everything in surprising detail but wouldn't admit to any kind of fear. I'd like to keep him overnight since his caregiver at home also had a traumatic experience and might not be at her best in handling him at the moment. It's unfortunate his parents aren't available." Reid told her about the conversation with Anise Fletcher. "That possibly explains it; it's been drilled into him not to be a whiny baby. I'll see him again in two days unless something happens tomorrow, then call me immediately." She handed him her card. "I should tell you to look for…"

"I know," Reid said, "Nightmares, sleeplessness, irritability, agitation, hyper vigilance, angry outbursts, and withdrawal."

She smiled. "I think he's in good hands." She turned and left down the corridor.

Fletcher was sitting on the bed when Reid entered the room. "How are you doing," he asked?

"I..I'm okay," the boy replied. He looked down and remained silent for a few moments before saying, "Can I tell you something." He looked up at Reid.

Reid nodded as he sat beside the boy on the bed, "You can tell me anything."

"Promise you won't tell my Mom," Fletcher stipulated.

"Fletcher, I…"

"Promise," the boy said again.

"Okay, I promise," Reid replied.

"You know when I was in the trunk of that car and in that cage," he looked at Reid for confirmation and he nodded. "I was really s..scared. You don't know what it's like to be handcuffed and held prisoner. Nobody knows where you are and you're just waiting for some crazy person to come and kill you." Tears filled his blue eyes.

"I know," Reid said, "You're hoping and praying that someone will come but you keep thinking they'll come too late, so you decide, in the end, it's up to you." Tears filled his brown eyes as he caressed the blond head.

Fletcher looked up at him, his eyes wide with disbelief and curiosity, then he reached up and removed Reid's glasses. A lone tear fell down Reid's cheek. "You do understand," the boy whispered.

"Uh hmm," Reid nodded as Fletcher curled into the safety of his arms and let the tears flow at last.

As the moon over San Francisco peeked into the hospital room window, it saw a tall man and a small boy sobbing well into the night.

--

As the sun peeked over the horizon, it glimpsed an empty hospital bed and a tall man asleep on a recliner chair with a small boy sleeping curled in his lap. The sun shone brightly through the window as San Francisco began another day.

--

**THE END**


End file.
